#THIS IS TWICE IN A SHORT TIME FRAME YOU'VE DONE THIS

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

(link to part two here!!!)

Izzy please know that whenever you send me anything i am filled with joy you are an AMAZING writer!!!! <33

you're not weak. for all your life you've fought, against the sun, the moon, the stars, and now Childe, and all the previous times you've succeeded. there's nothing to you but fighting- it's the reason you even live- and you take it as seriously as anyone else would take their "job", if you could even call it that. you're not weak. you're not weak. you're not weak-

so why do you feel like bursting into tears?

you're strong enough to keep yourself from crying, and instead place your hands on top of Foul Legacy's and hold it to your chest, unwilling to let go but unable to articulate why. even as you silently sit up you still cling to him, the sight of your blank eyes staring at his claws drawing a worried growl from Foul Legacy. you look so much like Childe when he emerged from the Abyss- deadened and uncertain of your fate- and without even thinking Foul Legacy lifts and sweeps you into a careful hug, settling your form on his lap

you hesitate, then tentatively lean your fuzzy, clouded head against his lilac fluff, and purrs fill your ears. the pain returns, your bones and muscles aching from overuse, but the soft rumbles surrounding you keep away the dark places in the back of your mind. so halfway between relief and regret, you sleep willingly in Foul Legacy's arms

the Abyssal monster lets out a quiet whine once you drift off, claws gently rubbing up and down your back. there are scars on your hands, arms- everywhere, healed again and again from the countless battles and enemies you've faced, ice spreading through Foul Legacy's chest as he recognizes a few from himself. and so he cradles you, looking so calm and relaxed in slumber, and swears to never raise his weapons against you again, to never allow any type of harm to befall you, to protect you forever and ever

because perhaps the world wants you to be enemies, but he'll break and reshape the laws of Teyvat with his own talons if he must, just to be able to show that he loves you

@izzyandviolins​ FORGIVE ME FOR TAGGING YOU BUT TUMBLR DECIDED TO NOT SHOW THIS IN THE TAGS AND I’M ENRAGED BECAUSE IT’S SO GOOD

[nebulaeternal]

✦.──Unspoken Cravings── .✦

―୨୧⋆ ˚GENRE/WARNING: porn w/little plot, exhibitionism, spanking, choking, overstim (if you squint), breeding f!xm, dirty talking, name-calling

―୨୧⋆ ˚SUMMARY: A casual friendly dinner with Sylus transforms into an encounter where your true feeling are exposed. He discovers the secret fantasies you've been hiding and takes control in ways you've only imagined, making them a reality.

―୨୧⋆ ˚WORD COUNT: 2.4K

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: Hello! I know I said I would have this done like two nights ago but I got caught up in things. Got the idea for this from @comatosebunny09, specifically from this post. I had fun with the concept I won't lie, thank you bunny <3 I hope you enjoy reading, let me know what you all think!

―୨୧⋆ ˚LINKS: AO3 Version, Twitter(Come interact with me!)

You had found yourself in the N109 Zone once more. It was becoming routine at this point with how often you visited the place. Of course, you only had one matter of business to attend to each time you visited, and that was to see Sylus. While you and Sylus have become more acquainted, you couldn’t help the growing attraction towards him, one you have been shoving down, hoping one day it’ll dissipate. However, the way he looked in his suit tonight was dwindling the hope of that ever happening.

Adorned in an elegant black dress, you sat across the table from the snowy-haired man. Eyes peering past the menu in hand, you snuck a glance at him, watching his eyes scan through the options, Sylus, not at all oblivious to your eyes on him, “Is my face more interesting than the menu?” his sultry voice, sounding out into the empty.

The place was cleared out, not a single soul in sight, virtually a ghost town, leaving the two of you alone in the giant, upscale, restaurant. “No, just curious about what you’d be getting this time.” You said casually. He smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Was my choice going to influence yours, sweetie?” he teased. You swallow dryly feeling your brain start to go fuzzy.

Looking back down at your menu, you gave him a short “No-” the man before you chuckled, quite amused with your answer. You, on the other hand, could be less concerned about how he perceived you, as you started to get lost in your thoughts. Quite the poker face you had on, staring at nothing in particular as a raunchy scenario unfolded in your head.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to Sylus, you’d wish you could tame it, but your desire for him only grew the more you saw him. His suit framed his broad shoulders, his piercing red eyes dusted with the fringe of his snow-white hair. And his large figure, his hands—you wanted them roaming your body, gripping your hips as he bent you over the table, hiking your dress up and claiming you in the middle of that restaurant—

Sylus furrowed his brows slightly, watching as your gaze only got more and more distant, despite your eyes still roaming the menu. He had already called out your name a couple of times, but you were too lost in your fantasy to hear his voice. Your lack of response piqued his interest.

While this wasn’t something Sylus typically chooses to do to you. He had only ever used his power on you twice, back when you first met him. Now that you were acquainted, well—he had no reason to use it—until now that is.

Sylus stared at you, focusing on finding out your current deepest desire. He peered into your mind, quite startled to find that he had you bent over the table, dress hunched up as he held a hand around your neck, driving his length into you with a forceful rigor while you were splayed out on the table, eyes rolling back, spit dribbling out your mouth.

Unbeknownst to you, he watched the scene unfold in your head, while you continued to casually browse through the menu. Acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He lept out of your mind, looking back to see your face, still unchanged. The waiter had stopped by the table. “Are you ready to order?” you raised your gaze to the waiter, leaving Sylus flabbergasted. You could hear the waiter but not him? “Yeah I’ll-”

“Leave us be, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Your eyes shot to Sylus as you heard the waiter’s padded footsteps get further away from the table. “What!-Sylus why-”

“Too busy mind fucking me to hear me call your name?” Your eyes shot wide, cheeks flushing red and palms growing clammy. You wanted to open your mouth to speak but no words came out. You stared at him unsure of what to say.

Sylus’s signature smirk was plastered on his face, as he watched you grow more flustered by the second.

“Sweetie,” his words hung in the air, you were scared of what he would say next. He would for sure think you’re weird now, wanting him to fuck you in the middle of this restaurant, there’s no way he didn’t—“Getting lost again?” He purred, snapping you out of your thoughts. Slowly rising out of his seat, he walked around the table to stand behind your chair.

With one final step, his tall figure was now looming behind you as you held your hands clenched in your lap, shoulders tensed and high while you waited anxiously for his next move.

“Sylus, I can explain.” You tried to come up with any excuse possible, but it was exactly what it looked like. By no means, was that an accident.

“Little kitten’s gotten bold now hm?” His hands slip onto your shoulders, causing you to tense more. He brought his mouth down to your ear, fingers starting to move in slow circles as he spoke. “Relax, I won’t bite…much.”

You gulped hard, did you hear him right? Before another thought could run through your mind, you felt his fingers on your chin, turning your head till you and him were face to face. You could smell his cologne clear as day. Sandalwood and whisky invade your senses, the smell shooting straight down to your core.

‘Oh fuck’ you thought, clenching your legs. You weren’t sure what was coming next, but you could hope it was one of two things, he kisses you, or lets you take your walk of shame, anything to dissipate the tension that lingered in the air, as his carmine eyes pierced through your defenses.

His hand glides from holding your chin to wrapping delicately around your neck. He loved seeing the way your eyes widened a fraction of a bit before you settled into his grip, eyelids suddenly feeling heavy once he gave your neck a slight squeeze.

“There she is~” he purred watching you grow more dazed, off of something as simple as his hand around your neck, and yet, it was far from over. He smirked smugly, seeing how easy it was to make you crumble, he didn’t have to figure out much, not after he glanced into your mind and saw exactly what you wanted.

“What a dirty girl, you are.” You felt your face flushed, embarrassed by how easily you were unraveling. His lips found yours in a fiery kiss, the grip he had on your neck, unrelenting as his body pressed against yours, caging you in.

Your mind was spinning, the tension between the two of you was almost unbearable as his hands roamed your body, pulling you against him till you were both nearly draped over the table. The kiss was intense, full of passion, igniting something deep within you two. Sylus wanted to claim you with such a feral desire that it nearly made his composure slip, it took everything in him to restrain himself, at least long enough to savor you.

He groaned into the kiss, feeling your ass grind against his growing bulge. His lips trailed along your body, while you threw your head back moaning out his name “Sylus~” he smirked against your skin.

“Such a naughty fucking kitten,” He growled, hiking up your dress as he cupped your ass, kneading the flesh roughly while he laid sloppy kisses all over you.

“A thong?” He teased, snapping the thin band against your skin, loving the yelp that escaped your lips “Didn’t peg you for this kinda girl.” his fingers danced along your hips, delighted in entertaining the idea of giving you exactly what you craved.

Your eyes flickered to his, biting back the words you so desperately wanted to tell him. You couldn’t bring yourself to, far too embarrassed from the previous encounter, you didn’t wanna give in so easily, but everything looked so inviting, the scent oozing from his body, his lips, the sound of his voice dripping with lust, everything about him screamed at you to tell him. 

“Do I need to take a look up here again? Or are you gonna tell me what you want?” He asks, gently tapping your forehead with his finger, to which your face flushed hot. You avoided his gaze only to be drawn back to his handsome face when he spoke once more, his question still waiting to be answered. “Well?”

“....yes.” a small squeak managed to leave your lips, audible enough to understand, but that wasn’t enough for Sylus. He leaned in, teasing as he slid the straps of your dress down slowly. “Now I know you can do better than that, kitten.” You looked at the way his lips moved while he spoke in such a sultry manner.

”I’ll tell you. Don’t-Don’t look in my mind again..just claim me-please..?” Your pleas were like a prayer that he would soon answer. Sylus wasted no time bending you over the table, scattering the plates as you let him manhandle you.

Your eyes closed, throwing your head back onto his chest, enjoying the sensation of his warm hands on your skin. The cool air hit your exposed skin as your dress bunched and sat on the small of your back. His hand came down roughly onto your ass, sending shockwaves through you that caused your eyes to fly open as a cry left your lips.

“Sylus!” He chuckled, quite amused with your reactions. “This is what you wanted wasn’t it?” He asked, knowing very well that the answer to that was “Such a dirty slut.” You felt yourself clench around nothing, desperate for more of his touch. 

His words, the sting on your ass, the dirty name that left his lips, he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “You want me that bad huh? Clenching around nothing?”

‘He knows everything-‘ you panicked internally. At this point, Sylus could read you like a book and it was only getting more obvious with each passing second. His hands gripped your hips firmly, grinding his hardness into you. “Sy~” you moan, feeling your mind start to get fuzzy again.

“Do you really want this?” His voice was soft, eyes peering into yours. His hands stilled, waiting for your response. He would never push you—not unless you told him what you needed. You nodded eagerly but he couldn’t accept that. Sylus gripped your chin, making you look him in the eyes. “Use your words, love. I need to hear you say it. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, your voice just above a whisper. “I want this—want you, please.” A smirk tugged the corner of his lips at your words. The clinking of his belt buckle create a symphony with your ragged breaths as you wait in anticipation. You felt him slide the flimsy material to the side, prodding at you with the tip of his cock.

Your breath hitched, feeling the heat and slick radiating as he teased you, dipping the bulbous head in and out of your folds “Sylus, pleasee~” You whined out, pushing your hips back in a silent plea. He chuckled at your response, satisfied with your desperation and he entered your slick walls in one swift motion, the two of you moaning loudly. Your body trembles as he begins to move.

Sylus’s grip on your waist tightened as his other hand found its way back to your throat, his fingers wrapping around deliciously. The pressure on your neck, coupled with the punishing pace of his hips had you dizzy, arms trembling against the tabletop. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by your whines and broken whimpers of his name. Sylus’ grip never faltered, his hand keeping you steady as he drilled into you, the snapping of his hips sending shockwaves through your body. 

“So…good.. don’t stop-” You whimpered out, breathlessly. His grunt in response told you he had no intention of stopping. Releasing your neck, your body fell forward slightly, upper body slumped against the table.

You felt his large hand come down on your ass once more, the sharp slap followed by a satisfied grunt from him. “You’re so good for me,”  he growled feeling himself nearing his release with how hard you gripped him.

“Kitten, I’m not sure I can last much longer-” Before he could let himself go, he reached his arm over your hips, creeping along your skin till he found your clit. The combination of his touch and merciless pounding sent you closer to the edge. 

“Close!-“You cried out, gripping the satin tablecloth beneath your palms. Feeling the force of his thrusts shoving you further into the table, further into your climax. “Please!” You weren’t sure if you were begging for him to slow down, or keep going. Practically screaming, you fought your climax, but Sylus would not stand for it.

“Don’t. Fight. It.” He accentuated each word with a thrust, pushing you over the edge as stars burst behind your eyelids, a sheen spray spilling from within you as you coated his length in your juices. The sounds were lewd and made your ears burn hot as you heard the squelching coming from your cunt while he mercilessly beat on your clit, his pace still unrelenting as continued to thrust into you.

Sylus was not far behind. The way you tightened, the sound of your moans, how you had squirted all over his cock, leaving a slippery haven for him to indulge in, driving him closer to the edge. The sound was ripped from his throat when he slammed into you one final time, grip unbelievably strong as he spilled into you, painting your insides white.

His body was hunched over yours, twitching while the rest of his cum spilled into you. You both stayed there a moment, spent and fucked out. The air was full of your ragged breaths as you both tried to regain your composure.

Sylus finally released the grip on your hips, sliding out of you with a grunt. He watched as his cum threatened to spill from your lips and smirked. He helped you pull up your thong, certain it would do little to prevent the mess from leaking down your thighs.

His large hands smoothed out your dress. “You ok, kitten?” his voice a soft and low timbre. You nodded, still unable to speak much, not sure if it was because you were breathless or spent. “Good, cause this isn’t over just yet,” you look over your shoulder, turning to look at him, “I’m far from finished with you.”

banner creds: @cafekitsune and @rookthornesartistry

[heizouz]

nsfw sub!lyney + implied amab!reader, no pronouns used but reader has a dick, rlly messy and needy, lyney is called a whore twice

i saw this in a vision and just started writing and didn't stop.. it's kinda long.. havent proof read idk if i even want to reread it. a bit crazier than my usual stuff (it's not) + the ending fuckin sucks bc i had no ideas. n e way love u guys and cockwhore lyney

there's something about stupidly needy, stupidly flirty lyney that drives me absolutely crazy.

lyney getting ready for a performance, most of his outfit put together other than his cape that's usually draped around his shoulder still hanging up behind the door. his hair is perfectly done, braid tight and the light pink streaks freshly dyed to accent his outfit colours. his hat is somewhere, but you can't see it from where you're standing by the door.

lyney’s bent over the vanity table, elbows resting on the wood while he holds his eyeliner up to his eyes, drawing a little dark wing on his right eye to match his left. from where you are, you've got a perfect view of how he perfects his makeup through the mirror, how he tilts his head to the side to make sure it's symmetrical to the other side, how he arches his back slightly to get closer to the mirror, how he pushes his ass out and sways his hips when he knows your eyes are raking over his entire body. he's teasing you without words, ever so slightly casting his eyes over to you through the mirror when he presses his chest against the vanity desk and lets out a quiet moan which could be passed off as him stretching but you know from the way the edges of his lips tilt upwards that he's doing it entirely on purpose.

you cross your arms, body weight leaning against the door frame of the wide open door to his dressing room and just watch as he continues to show himself off to you with flirty little smiles and obscenely stupid moans every time he presents his ass out in his stupidly tight shorts. anyone walking past the dressing room could look in and suspect nothing but the magician applying his makeup for his upcoming performance yet there was something so explicit in the way lyney moved his hips in front of you that anyone peeking in would think it was a pornographic display.

lyney squeezes his thighs together when he meets your eyes in the mirror and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth in a cheeky grin, going back to still trying to perfect his eyeliner. he doesn't pay any attention to you now, focused on getting his makeup’s angle right and flaunting his pretty body to you to.

so he doesn't notice when you pull yourself off the door, quietly closing it behind you and crossing through the room to where he's entirely bent over the desk. when he sees you through the mirror though, his eyes seem to light up and he immediately pushes his ass back to meet your hips when you stop to stand behind him.

you raise an eyebrow slightly, but your hands drop to his hips, fingers pressing into the material of his clothes and you lean over his back a little, forcing him to stay pressed against the vanity.

“you enjoying yourself?” you ask, voice deep as you push your hips hard against his ass, watching the way lyney struggles to hold the eyeliner against his skin when he moans quietly and immediately sway his hips back to seek the feeling he's been needing.

the magician hums, eyes fluttering closed, pulling his eyeliner away from his face so he doesn't fuck up his makeup as your hands press his hips down against the wood of his desk, moving to kneeding his ass despite the shorts that hardly cover anything anyway. “i am now.” lyney breathlessly says, hand curling into a fist at the friction of his clothes and the desk against his aching cock. you can't help but smirk a little, pressing your lips across his shoulder and whispering a small “yeah?” in his ear that he nods so obediently to.

“you're gonna be late to your performance if you keep this up.” you mumble, moaning under your breath when lyney forces his hips back against you harshly. the magician smiles at you, blinking at you through the mirror even though you're focused on the way he's moving his ass against you so needily.

“not if we're quick.”

it’s your turn to hum now and you grab the eyeliner from his hand - lyney whines in response, eyes glaring at you through the mirror - and put it somewhere on the desk before grabbing lyney's hips and spinning him around. the boy gasps, hands gripping the edge of the vanity for support until you force him to the floor. lyney just accepts it, bracing himself on his knees in front of you, almost hitting his head on the desk from the speed.

your fingers hit the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up to look at you and he does, eyes big and needy, that stupid flirty grin tugging at his lips. “don't wanna ruin your outfit, baby,” you faux pout, fingers dancing across his jaw and cheek before your thumb lands on his bottom lip, “so put your pretty mouth to good use, yeah?”

lyney is almost immediate with his ministrations. his hands go to your belt, tugging at the buckle as you press your fingers against his lips for him to open. he does, parting his lips for you to slip your fingers in and he moans around them, eyes glancing up all pretty with his performance makeup on. he takes your fingers in his mouth so nicely, wetting them for no reason other than to please you until he gets your pants down and his lips around your cock.

he presses desperate kisses along your cock once he's freed it, working his way up to the tip and wrapping his pretty lips around you while his hands curl around the rest. you moan quietly, so badly wanting to grab his hair and force his head down to take all of you but you're wary that he has to be out on stage soon and you can't risk explaining to the hair and makeup department what happened. so you settle with brushing your thumb over his cheek as lyney giggles and whines as he kisses the tip of your cock again.

“such a pretty eager whore today.” you sigh, grabbing lyney's jaw to urge him to take your cock, which he does with ease, lips parting to take you almost fully and you can feel the whimper he let out at the name around your cock. “bet you'd take anyone's cock if they'd walked in on you bent over like that, wouldn't you?”

you're teasing, trying to rile him up fully knowing he's not anything but your baby. it works though, and lyney whines around your cock, the vibrations punching a groan from your throat and he pulls off to glare up at you. “wouldn't.” he says, stroking the length of your cock as his lips press against the underside where he knows you're sensitive. you grin a little, moaning through a smile and lyney drags his tongue up the length of your cock, eyes blinking prettily up at you to flirt despite your cock in his mouth. he looks so perfect like this, on his knees in front of you, makeup glittery and pink, eyes bright and glassy, lips parted around you, so eager to please even though he's on timetable.

he takes you so well, one hand stroking whatever he can't fit in his mouth and the other grabbing your shirt to ground himself. he's being careful though, not showing off and you narrow your eyes a little. your hand finds the back of his head, careful not to mess with his hair and you press him forward to take your cock further. lyney whimpers, both hands grabbing the backs of your thighs and eyes widely looking up at you. he takes it though, letting his lips stretch around the length of your cock until he can't anymore and his pretty violet eyes start to glass over with tears.

“that's it, good boy.” you groan, head falling back slightly at the warmth of his mouth. lyney tries to blink back his tears, not wanting to smudge his eyeliner but he's so needy and your cock is filling his mouth so well that it's making it difficult. you finally let go though, and lyney pulls off of you with a gasp, instantly whining and going to stroke your cock like a good boy. the magician rubs his thighs together, pressing his lips needily over your cock and when you glance back down at him he immediately goes to take you again.

you moan, catching the way the boy is pressing his thighs together so desperate for friction. so you gently part his legs with your foot and lightly press your shoe against his aching cock over his shorts. lyney cries around your cock, immediately bucking against your shoe and fingers curling into the material of your shirt. his eyes fill with tears once again from the pleasure he needed, making sure to eagerly bob his head along your cock as a thank you.

he knew you wouldn't let him cum since he had to be on stage in probably ten minutes from now, but he was grateful nonetheless for some sort of relief. lyney closes his eyes to force back his tears when your shoe presses against the tip of his cock through his shorts, loud moans bleeding from around your cock. you're close now, and you let lyney know with a hand on the back of his head and cursing out.

“f-fuck, gonna cum baby,” you're breathless, eyes dropping to see lyney crack his eyes open to watch you, “as much as i want to see your pretty face covered, can’t today.”

lyney's eyes plead, small whine ripping from his throat with a frown, pulling off to suck the head of your cock and you jolt a little, stomach coiling. “g-god, baby open your mouth.” you grab your cock once lyney rips himself off, obeying and lips parting at your command. he sits like a good boy when you stroke yourself to release, eyes glimmering with need as you cum on his tongue, lips closing around you gently to help you through. you let out a mantra of moans as you come down, letting lyney lick and mouth up your length, making a mess all over your cock, not caring about the cum and saliva dripping from your cock and his pretty lips.

you pull him off of you, thumb going to clean the mess off his face and press into his mouth which lyney just takes with need, moaning around your thumb.

“pretty whore.”

lyney giggles, pressing a kiss against your cock to tease when you drop your thumb from his mouth. if it weren't for the growing noise of people from the hallway outside, you're sure lyney would've skipped his performance to stay on his knees all night for you.

[catras-breakup-song]

i know adora wasn't just appalled & angry here about the clear fact that catra had been mind-controlled, but also at immediately noticing how her hair had been cut so short against her will.

she actually says in this episode, "come on, catra! you've never listened to anyone in your life; are you really going to start now?" which is an acknowledgement of her awareness that catra has always been free-spirited and refused to be confined by anything she doesn't want to do or hear.

the more subtle aspect, though, is adora knowing that she's never had short hair at any point in time because the wild mane gave her a sense of security in her power and ability to protect herself. she's so familiar with everything possible about her childhood best friend that she deeply & intimately understands this was actually another additional traumatizing event done by prime with twice the punch.

the top right frame is adora's recognition that even without the chip, catra would still appear as an entirely different person, which is not a good thing at all when she had believed her worth and value was based off of how much she could intimidate others and keep her position within the horde.

everyone ─ including nate stevenson with his s4 art ─ always compares adora's broken sword to catra's face mask as accessories that they lose in s5 (or just generally as items for fan-made merch). considering the mask is so strongly connected to the hairstyle, i do think it's also a more literal symbolism opportunity of what gave them their identities and thus drove them apart, which is something i'd like to point out since these posts are a more figurative & spiritual analysis. in my opinion, it's really not that far off from accuracy to say that the mask is equally as important as the sword overall when it comes to the show itself revolving around the relationship of catradora more so than the surface-level plot.

apologies if this is too obvious to be making a whole post about and doesn't provide any new info to discuss

[saistappen]

First vacation together | MV1

In which Max and you spend your first vacation together

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

THE FIRST vacation together should be the one you remember forever.

The one you look back on with a smile and start to feel the butterflies coming up.

The vacation that you take loads of cheesy pictures of and stick them in a photo album to look back on years later.

Max and your first vacation together took you to St Tropez. Not too far from Monaco, your short vacation together should provide a few relaxing days, as Max is still in the middle of the Formula 1 season.

The Dutchman wants to spend the week's break he has before the Spanish Grand Prix with you on the beach, lying lazily on a lounger together and looking out over the water.

It should be the perfect getaway, where it's just the two of you and Max can spend a few days with his girlfriend to recharge his batteries for the next weekend.

"Are you ready for the beach? " Smiling, you lean your back against the wooden door frame and watch your friend apply the last of the sun cream to his skin.

Since the Dutchman, unlike you, has really pale skin, you've literally forced him to slather himself with sun cream so that he doesn't look like a crab at the end of the day.

" I just have to pack my towel. "

Max rubs the last of the white sticky cream on his arm before washing his hands.

"Nope, I've already done that, " you reply with a grin and pick up the light blue beach bag to show him once again that you've already thought of everything.

"You're in a hurry to get to the beach, huh? " he adds as he turns around and walks towards you. He stops in front of you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Oh, yes. But I don't think you can blame me, can you? After all, I only have a few intense days with my boyfriend where he's just mine until I have to share him again. "

The smile that creeps onto your lips only remains firm with difficulty. Because it's anything but easy to see your boyfriend so rarely.

Of course, you had already realized during your dating days that it wouldn't be easy to date a racing driver who flew around the world more than he was at home.

On the odd weekend, you were there live from time to time to support him on site. But your job as a florist didn't always allow for this, as you had to work every now and then, even at the weekend, when Max was sitting in his car and literally flying around the track.

But the rest of the days when you sleep alone in your bed in the apartment in Monaco, you miss your boyfriend especially.

Waking up or having breakfast together only comes into question on days off or during the summer and winter break, as well as a few other things that are standard for other couples.

But you enjoy these things, which are normal for other couples, even more intensely. And even the anticipation of embracing his partner again is twice as great.

" I can't blame you, no. Because I feel the same way," smiles the Dutchman, taking the beach bag from you and casually swinging it over his shoulder, his free right hand reaching for yours to intertwine your fingers.

And so you leave the bungalow hand in hand, which has a small pool and you can see the sea from afar, so you only have to walk twenty meters through the white sand to reach the beach.

If someone were to ask you what paradise is for you, you would probably answer 'This'.

While the waves crash softly in the background and every now and then a small wave gently laps against the shore, you make yourself comfortable on one of the deckchairs.

Your hands keep running through the thick hair of the Dutchman, who has laid his head in your lap and is dozing lightly.

You can still see the odd drop of water on his bare chest that the sun hasn't yet managed to dry.

After your short swim in the cool water - where you've frolicked more than anything else - you've been drawn back to the sun lounger, where you're now enjoying each other's company in the shade.

The beach is quite crowded, so the sound of children's laughter or the babble of voices carries over to you, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest.

"Hmm, this is so great," Max mumbles with his eyes closed in pleasure as your hand runs through his hair again and again.

The sun's rays have caused countless blonde strands to form in Max's hair, making it partially shiny in the sun.

His bare skin has also become a little more colorful, so you're sure he'll notice the difference in the next few days.

"I think so, but don't you dare fall asleep," you smile as your hand begins to run through his hair a little more slowly.

Some of the brunette strands are already sticking up on his head and you are sure that Max's hair will be a complete mess when you take your hand out of it.

"I won't, I promise," he yawns as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and pulls his legs a little closer to curl up slightly.

As he lies there, he has almost assumed an embryo position, which looks really cute, so you have to stifle a quiet 'Aww'.

As your left hand continues to run through his hair and Max's eyes remain closed, you take the opportunity to reach for your cell phone and take a photo of him.

However, you forget that you haven't set your phone to silent and as you take a photo, your phone starts to betray you, causing the Dutchman to open his eyes and lift his head so that your hand slips out of his hair.

"Did you take a photo of me? " he asks with mock indignation as he slowly sits up and looks at you.

A soft giggle leaves your lips. Max's hair is sticking out wildly from his head in all directions, so you can't really take your friend seriously.

"What's so funny? " he adds with a furrowed brow. "Are you trying to distract from the topic? "

"No, but your hair...". you continue to giggle and open the selfie camera on your phone to show him his hair.

But before you can hold the phone in front of him, Max has already taken your phone from you with the words "Wait a minute" and thrown it carelessly onto the couch next to you.

Before you can react, Max jumps up from the lounger and shortly afterwards he has already thrown you over his shoulder, eliciting a not-so-quiet and startled shriek from you.

"Max what - ", you start, but are interrupted as the Dutchman begins to run zigzag through the sand with the words " Ah! Hot ", which elicits another giggle from you.

But when Max starts to run through the water instead of the sand a few meters later, the giggles literally get stuck in your throat because you know exactly what he's up to.

"Noooo! Max stop! " You literally shriek as you start to prick his back with your fingers in the hope that the Dutchman will stop.

But that doesn't seem to do any good, as Max runs deeper and deeper into the water, so that a short time later his hips are covered in water and you put your hands up in the air so that they don't get touched by the cool water.

"Put me down ", you whine sulkily as Max stops.

"Are you sure? ", he raked.

You nod. "Yes."

But that was a mistake. Max's arms loosen around your body and shortly afterwards you sink into the cool water so that your whole body is enveloped by the water and you suddenly feel weightless as your body sinks slightly.

Underwater, you open your eyes in shock for a few seconds and start to flail your arms in panic until you realize that you can swim.

As your feet touch the bottom, you push off slightly in the sand and start to row with your arms to get back to the surface, where your friend is standing there grinning and just looking at you.

"You'll get that back, Verstappen! " you growl slightly, but start to grin shortly afterwards as Max begins to run through the water - which doesn't turn out to be all that easy - so that he starts to swim shortly afterwards.

You quickly start moving too and use all your strength to swim a little faster to reach your friend.

However, a gap quickly forms between you, as Max is a lot faster than you. But that's no reason for you to give up.

" What's the matter? Are you giving up yet? " Max calls to you with a grin as he floats in the water and turns his head back over his shoulder.

This is clearly a mistake, because you use this moment to gather the last of your strength and swim over to him.

A few meters in front of him, you dive underwater and shortly afterwards pull on the Dutchman's feet so that he goes under too.

Laughing, you surface and swim over to the shore to escape from Max.

But once again you misjudge yourself, as the Dutchman has already surfaced again and his strong arms wrap around your hips shortly afterwards and pull you close to him.

"You think you can just run away, don't you? " he breathes into your ear, causing goose bumps to spread over your body.

" It.., it was worth a try," you stammer, slightly flustered, as Max begins to place feather-light kisses on your shoulder.

"I'm freaking you out, huh? " he breathes between the countless kisses that he spreads on your shoulder and slowly kisses his way up to your neck.

Unable to say anything, you just start nodding.

"Say it, " he breathes.

"Y-you're upsetting me. " The words leave your mouth in a stammer as you spin around and look into Max's blue eyes, which slowly begin to fill with lust.

A smile forms on his full lips as his hands move up to your hips, where they find their place and he pulls you a little closer to him, so that you wrap your legs around his hips and clearly begin to feel that this doesn't exactly leave him cold either.

"That was my goal, " he breathes against your lips before he places his lips on yours and begins to kiss you intensely.

During the kiss, which tastes like a hint of seawater and lust, your heart begins to leap in his chest.

Your hands move up into his wet hair, where they intertwine and your body presses a little closer to the Dutchman's, causing him to let out a small gasp.

"You're driving me so crazy," he mumbles against your lips as he pulls away from you slightly. " We should go back to the bungalow and continue there. "

"That's a good idea, " you breathe against his lips as you feel Max slowly fight his way through the waves to the shore and carry you over to the bungalow, almost running.

And neither of you care that your towels and a few of your valuables are still lying on the loungers.

As Max carries you over to the balcony door of the bungalow, your lips begin to spread light kisses on the soft skin of his neck, causing the Dutchman to gasp softly.

With his foot, he deftly opens the balcony door that you had left ajar and shortly afterwards pushes it shut again behind him, so that it closes with a slight thud.

But neither of you pays much attention to the sound.

Shortly afterwards, you find yourself on the bed, Max bent over you as he begins to spread countless kisses over your half-naked body.

And so you give yourself completely to your boyfriend to take your relationship one step further for the first time.

Exhausted and out of breath, you snuggle into Max's arms, which he wraps around you and pulls you as close to him as possible.

You carefully rest your head on his chest so that you can clearly hear his heart beating a little faster.

"That was..." Max starts the sentence out of breath.

"Unbelievable," you finish the sentence with a grin as you bury the tip of your nose in Max's chest, which smells of sweat, salt water and Max.

You couldn't have imagined your first time with Max any better. Because today was really perfect and much better than you had imagined.

"Just as incredible as you," the Dutchman breathes as he rests his head on yours and your eyes start to flutter sleepily.

But before you can say anything back, your eyes close and you fall into a happy but dreamless sleep.

[mystra-midnight]

Language of Lust

summary: a botched hunt means that you need a refresher in latin thankfully sam is there to help.

warnings: mentions of a panic attack. forced orgasm. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. anal sex. unprotected sex. squirting. creampie.

words: 3.2k

notes: so a while ago i saw a post about being dommed in another language. and honestly it unlocked a kink i never knew i had. that post spawned this idea. please ignore the latin translations if they aren’t correct as i used google to translate. :)

In the days following the botched demon hunt, the atmosphere within the base had become tense, and that meant the three of you had been at each other's throats. It hadn’t mattered how many times you’d apologized or promised to do better next time, how much pie you’d bought for Dean, or that you’d cooked Sam's favorite meal twice; nothing had fixed it.

In truth, you all needed some space.

You most of all.

That panic attack came out of nowhere and left you completely shaken. Even a week later, you were hyperfocused on the details of it—the way the walls of the room had shuddered and groaned as you spoke the ritual words, making dust and old cobwebs fall around you. When you thought about it, your heart would race so fast and slam against your breastbone so hard that you could have sworn it started to crack.

The ringing in your ears had been a deafening crescendo, and your eyes had been a waterfall of tears even when Sam had knelt in front of you and pulled you into his chest. You remembered the sound of his voice and the beating of his heart as he whispered to you soothingly until the tears finally stopped.

You still didn't remember much about what had actually happened, but you knew that the demon had gotten away, and you knew that Dean was pissed and Sam was disappointed. Neither of them needed to say it out loud.

So for the past few days, you've busied yourself with whatever task you could find to take your mind off the entire situation. Dean had very much done the same; you hadn’t seen him since this morning, when he’d come back to grab a few things and then left again.

You knew that Sam was somewhere in the base; you’d seen him in passing a few times, but the two of you hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other.

Normally, that would have upset you. You hated fighting with the boys, but you were feeling better and in a relatively good mood today.

You sigh as you step into the kitchen after showering to wash the sweat and anxiety from your skin. Your hair is still damp, and you're dressed in one of Dean's old shirts and a tight pair of bicycle shorts. Sam entered soon after, dressed just as casually. He looked entirely undisturbed by the events of the past few days.

"Hey," you say in passing, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey yourself," he answers with a smile. For a moment, there was silence between you, but even that was short-lived. "You got the words wrong, you know," Sam says, leaning a hip against the door frame while he stares at you with arms crossed. He didn't sound angry, but it wasn't like he needed to say it; you knew you'd gotten them wrong.

Your head snaps around to stare at him, eyes narrowing at the fucking audacity he spoke with. Was that really what he wanted to say? "Yeah," you answer, your expression souring and your mouth in a tight-lipped scowl. "I figured that out from the silent treatment." You shrug your shoulders, trying not to let the hurt bleed into your voice as you turn away and busy yourself straightening a piece of paper on the table.

"Silent treatment?" He asks, pushing off the wall to come towards you. "No one is giving you the silent treatment."

"Sure you’re not," you scoff in response.

"We’re not."

"Then where is Dean? He’s running off doing his own thing because he’s pissed off at me for ruining the hunt, and it’s been two days since you said this much to me, Sam." You huff, clearly annoyed, as you cross your arms and glare at him. "No one learns from the silent treatment, Sam. Sure, I messed up. I know I did, and I’ll learn from that. The two of you don’t need to be assholes about it. But whatever, live and let live."

He walks briskly towards you, and you step back, not in fear but because the raw emotions in his eyes stun you—lust and dominance mingling beautifully in the depths of his iridescent orbs. Sam doesn't stop when you back away; instead, he walks until the small of your back is pressed against the edge of the table, and then he cages you between his arms, palms pressed flat against the table top.

"S - Sam?" You stutter when his lips pull into a smooth smirk. One of his hands grabs you by the hip, his fingertips biting into your skin just a little bit too much, and he pulls you against him, painting his body firmly against yours.

And then he’s kissing you, and you kiss him, and whatever anger was on your tongue dies.

Sam does not waste time and pushes his hand into your bicycle shorts, the material so tight that it fits you like a second skin. He wants desperately to rip it down your legs and feast on your pussy, but he shows remarkable restraint.

"If you wanted more lessons," he says between heated kisses that muffle your little gasps when he starts to rub his fingers against your clit. "You just needed to ask, sweetheart." His other hand grasps your jaw hard with his thumb and forefinger, pushing into your cheeks so that you were pouting when he kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You have the notion to argue with him but are silenced when he pushes a finger through your folds, which are slick with desire and anticipation. You grab at his arm when he prods your entrance, making your knees weak. "Sam, I—" you start but are silenced by the stare in his eyes.

"In Latin." 

"Sam?"

"In Latin." He says it again, this time with more force, his words accompanied by a second finger being pushed into your tight hole, drawing a wanton moan from your lips. You’re not sure where this behaviour is coming from. Sam had never so much as hinted at liking you, but in truth, you weren’t one to complain—not when he was knuckles deep in your cunt.

Your fingers curl tightly around the edge of the table, nails scratching at the underside, knuckles white under the pressure. You tilt your head back beneath his wandering mouth, enjoying the warmth of his body hovering over yours and how he pulls your shirt up to expose your tits.

Sam trails hot, wet kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse. He sucks a hickey on your collarbone until a purple-blue bruise forms beneath his lips. The entire time he’s pumping his fingers into your cunt. Lewd, wet squelching fills the room because you’re that fucking wet.

He forces your legs further apart with his knee so that you're perched on the edge of the table, feet dangling in the air. His mouth moves to your chest, his lips closing around your nipple and sucking hard so that it pops from his mouth with an obscene sound and stands hard atop your tit. And then he takes the other one into his mouth, flicking and twirling his tongue so that you had to fist a hand in his hair.

He whispers something that you can’t make out. His mouth is like fire on your skin, leaving little flames of arousal licking through your veins. And then his fingers hit that spongy part of your pussy that has you hurtling towards a climax instead of slowly building to it.

You can’t help the way your nails dig into his shoulders when you cling to him when your thighs tremble. You cling to him when the storm comes out of nowhere, sweeping you away on a cloud of bliss that has you throwing your head back. He feels your walls tighten around his fingers, fresh waves of arousal against the tips, and then he’s kissing you again, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to keep the aftershocks of climax trembling through you.

His mouth is hot, stealing the air from your lungs until they are burning, but you don’t mind because you're still coming down from your high.

The next thing you know, it’s been an hour, and Sam has managed to make you cum three more times, twice with his fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy, scissoring them to send you teetering over the edge of oblivion. And then once more, with his mouth on your pussy, lips encircling around your clit and sucking so hard that all you could do was repeat his name like a heaven’s prayer.

You’re done, but he wasn’t, not by a long shot.

Sam spread you out on your back, laying you out like a feast, your skin flushed and tits heaving with heavy breaths. You feel the rough pad of his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, which is slightly swollen and much too sensitive, and you claw at his wrist to push him away. Sam just smiles at you and pins both your wrists to the mattress with one of his large hands.

"It’s too much," you whine, trying to pull away and wiggle your hips away from his fingers, but you’re trapped. And you love it as much as you hate it. Sam growls softly between his teeth, his thumb prodding through your slick folds and getting nice and wet before drifting lower to push against your asshole. Your breath hitches at the sensation, and your mind spins as he pushes his thumb inside, giving a few shallow thrusts to tease you.

"Hic tam arctus es, infans," he says, his voice heavy with lust and muffled against your heaving tits. His breath is hot against your skin, his teeth scrape over your racing heartbeat, and his tongue leaves your skin inflamed and glistening. There is a knot twisting through your belly, slowly pulling tighter as his thumb pushes in and out of your tight hole.

"Ubi vis me?" His words are lost in the haze of euphoria he’s trapped you in, as meaningless as the world around you has become. You were a slave to the sensations he embodied, desperately moving your hips to take him deeper. "Hic?"

"Sam," you whine, your voice straining as you struggle in his grasp. You need him; you need to feel your pussy stretching around his big, hard cock. You need to feel him buried inside you, fucking you into oblivion.

"Hic?" He says it again, twisting his thumb in a way that has you throwing your head back and bucking your hips desperately. You can feel him smiling against your tit as he mouths it, his teeth tugging at your nipple until your back arches.

Your breath comes quicker, little pants, when he pulls his thumb from your clenching asshole, the feeling exquisite and leaving you desperate for more despite the live wires of overstimulation snaking through your veins. Sam lets go of your wrists long enough to pull one of your legs up, laying the back of your thigh up his torso so that your knee is bent over his shoulder, and then he shackles them again, trapping you beneath him.

You move restlessly when you feel his thumb against your asshole again, except this time it's not his thumb, and your eyes go wide, a whimper falling from your parted lips. You weren’t a virgin, not at all, but this would be the first time you’d ever taken something so big in your ass.

There was no mistaking that Sam Winchester was a behemoth of a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and strong—Hercules reborn. Everything about him is big. His hands, his feet, his thighs, and his cock. Everything about him is solid, cut from marble; he is beautiful. His cock makes your asshole sting beautifully as he pushes the mushroom head in.

Inch by glorious inch, he pushed forward, the prominent vein on the underside of his cock dragging along your stretched hole. "Jesus, tam stricta es," he breathes against your neck, but you still don’t understand. He’s slow, letting you get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open with short, shallow thrusts, making you moan wantonly.

He loves the little things that you do, the simple things; the pleasure that sears through him as he stretches your tightest hole; the way you’re moaning like a whore, rocking your hips desperately against his, grinding against him. He starts moving with more urgency, drawing back so that only the head of his cock is fitted snugly inside, and then he’s thrusting back in with one stroke, hitting deep, leaving you throwing your head from side to side.

Your thighs quiver, and your toes curl. Sam fucks into you at a merciless pace, stretching you out and filling you completely, and the feeling of it is beyond words. It is beautiful and exquisite—pure euphoric bliss. It makes your pussy creamy with desire, so much so that your slick drips down your crack to mingle with his thrusts. That knot in your belly pulls tighter while your clit throbs and the muscles in your thighs ache. Your lungs burn because of how you’re panting, unable to catch your breath.

His fingers tighten around your wrists when you almost buck out of his grasp, the tips of them biting into your skin so that you can feel bruises starting to form, but you don’t care. You’re so close, so fucking close. His mouth is on your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse, his lips leaving hickeys behind, and his tongue leaving your skin hot and wet.

You can feel the pressure building. Your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing, and you can feel your pulse beating in your toes, your clit, even in your fingertips—you’re that close to breaking. It feels so fucking good, but you’re fighting it because the pleasure is starting to border on pain and overstimulation.

And you’re lost in it, trapped as you are beneath him.

You crave that sweet release, the way fire will race through your blood, and the way your world will be scored with lightning. You need it as much as you need to breathe, but every part of you is alive. You can hear the blood rushing behind your ears; hear the beating of your heart as it slams into your breastbone; your eyes rolling back every time his hips snap forward, pushing every inch of him deep inside you.

"Venire," he growls against your neck, his breath literally burning against your sweat-slicked skin. You don’t know what he says, but the lust in his voice and the feral look in his eyes pull that coil painfully tight. You’re breaking—he’s breaking you. He’s got you on the verge of being fucked stupid, sobbing because of him and how good it feels, but he wants more from you.

"Sam! Sam, please, please," you plead, throwing your head from side to side, desperately trying to tug your hands free. You arch your back when he hits a spot that has dots decorating your vision, your tits thrusting into the air. You can’t figure out what you’re asking for. For him to stop or for him to keep going, it’s a blur.

Every movement of his hips has that knot pulling tighter—so tight that you might die. Your pussy is twitching, clenching around nothing, and you’re so wet that it’s shining on his skin every time he bottoms out.

"Venire," he says again, this time against your ear. Your pleasure-addled brain, so drugged with pleasurable pain and desperate for the release he’s forcing from you, only comprehends what he's saying when two of his fingers are shoved through your slick folds and into your clenching hole, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles.

You struggle to close your thighs, tears streaming down your face, tits bouncing as he fucks you harder. His cock is stretching your ass beyond belief while his fingers ram into that spongy spot that has your vision decorated with stars. "I - I - I - can’t!" You manage to stutter out, hips bucking against his, your pussy clenching so tight around his fingers.

Except you can because that dam breaks with so much pressure that you scream. It feels like lightning has hit your body, sizzling through your veins until you’re thrashing beneath him, your thighs quivering violently, and your toes curled so much that it hurts.  Sam doesn’t stop, not even when your ass tightens around his cock to the point of pain. He just presses his thumb against your clit, circling, rubbing, and making you scream for him.

You feel a gush between your thighs, your pussy convulsing around his fingers as you cum in a fountain spray. Sam curls his fingers into your g-spot, scissors them, and pulls them from you to draw out as much cum as possible. If you had any brains left, you might have been embarrassed by the way you came, squirting so hard that it hits his abdomen and drips from the nest of curls at the base of his shaft, how it drenches your thighs and pools on the mattress beneath you.

But you’re gone, lost, and fucked dumb, only able to grunt as he keeps fucking you.

"Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit." His own voice is trembling, and his balls draw closer to his body as the muscles in his abdomen tighten. He buries himself deep so that your ass is full and your pussy tingles. And you feel it as he grunts against your neck—feel the white-hot ribbons of cum filling your ass.

Sam keeps thrusting until you've milked him dry, and then he pulls out, drawing a pathetic, desperate moan from your lips because of the sensation. Having let go of your wrists, he sits back on his haunches. You lay there, your thighs still trembling, your mind lost. Sam watches the way your pretty pussy twitches and the way your ass puckers, and his sticky cum drips from it in fat globs.

"What do pretty girls say after being filled with cum?" He asks, his voice soft, his fingers pushing his cum back into your stretched-out ass so that you were whimpering and shaking again. You manage to peel your eyes open to stare at him, tears in them, your chest heaving as he shoves two long fingers into your asshole.

He speaks English this time so that you understand, but you are still slow to react, straining to close your thighs. He kisses you without warning, his tongue in your mouth, licking yours until you're clawing at his shoulders to keep him there, desperate for his kiss.

"Gratias tibi." You managed with a weary smile, and that was enough for him for the moment.

the translations ::

Hic tam arctus es, infans. - You’re so tight here, baby.

Ubi vis me? - Where do you want me?

Hic? - Here?

Hic? - Here?

Jesus, tam stricta es. - Jesus, you’re so tight.

Venire - Come/cum.

Venire - Come/cum.

Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit. - So pretty, baby, so beautiful, coming so hard for me.

Gratias tibi - Thank you.

[tiathecreator]

already over. - e. yeager. situationship au. suggestive ( ? ) but sfw. musician!blk reader.

you know you shouldn't be doing this.

you shouldn't be at eren's place, wrapped up in his sheets, curled into his frame, and nuzzling into his neck. eren's arms were wrapped around you, holding you close to him as he rested his head on yours. his breathing was steady as he relaxed, leaving you to fight with your thoughts.

what the two of you had going on was simple. you would occasionally hang out his place or be his plus one to any club he was going to. you'd spend the night at his place at least twice a week. you've met all of his friends and he's met yours. he comes to your performances with a stupidly large sign saying that he's your number one fan. you guys are just friends.

okay, maybe a little more than just friends.

he kisses you hard, almost as if you'll disappear if he kisses you any softer. you don't like the little comments that he gets from other women when the two of you are out together. and there are times that the two of you go weeks without speaking, usually due to your own stubbornness to admit that you want him just as much as he wants you. so you'll avoid every form of intimacy with him for weeks, trying to forget anything that the two of you had done in the past, just to fall back in his bed after he corners you to get you to speak to him. you've both said that you'd be better off as friends, rather than playing this constant game of push and pull, but you can't help but to fall back together.

"we should probably get ready," you mumble into his neck, yet you make no attempt to free yourself from his hold. eren hummed and held you closer, not wanting to part so quickly. "i have a show, eren. and you have to be there. new song remember?"

"still won't give me a teaser?" eren tried, eyes still closed and hold not budging.

"not a chance. you have to hear this one for the first amongst the masses," you teased, wiggling out his hold and rising from the bed. eren groaned at the removal of your body heat before letting his back hit the sheets as you padded into his bathroom to shower.

"thank you for coming out tonight! so many beautiful faces in the crowd! okay, so for my next song, i have announced that i'm releasing a new song tonight and you all will be the first to hear it! i'm super excited because this song has tons of feelings and thoughts put into it so i really hope you like it!" you say into the mic, smiling at the cheer you received. you gave your sound guy a thumbs up as you sat on the stage, waiting for the track to play.

"we been talking for hours 'bout how we shouldn't talk for hours on end. kissin' after a conversation 'bout how'd we probably be better off as friends," you sang into the mic, locking eyes with eren, standing barricade in the crowd.

you continued to singing through the chorus, tearing you eyes from eren to glance at the sea of flashlights before you let your eyes linger on him for the next verse.

"selfishly don't wanna give you time to be on someone else lips. but i'll take three short hours over three long weeks pretending that we don't exist," eren couldn't tear his eyes from you as it fully registered that this song was about the insatiable infatuation between the two of you. you stood from your seated position and began to walk the edge of the stage, reaching out to touch a few hands before standing in the middle of the stage to sing the bridge of the song.

the entire time that you sang, you kept your eyes on eren, studying his unreadable expression. you couldn't tell if he was annoyed with your song or hurt by it and you hoped it was neither as it wasn't meant to evoke either of those emotions.

you wrote this song to say all the things you haven't told him. you wanted him, despite the complicated nature of your relationship. despite all the reason why you shouldn't, you had a thousand more reasons as to why you should.

as the song came to a close, you walked towards the front of the stage and squatted, trying to discreetly sing to eren. "yeah, i like my bed, but it likes you too. how am i supposed to leave you now that you're already over?"

you drown out the applause as you kept your eyes on eren, subtly motioning for him to meet you after the show. he nods and makes his way to the exit doors, knowing that security would let him wait in your dressing room until you came back from the stage.

"once again, thank you for coming out tonight! you guys have been so sweet tonight and i couldn't have asked for a better crowd to hear my new song! it drops tonight at 12am, so be sure to look for it!" you plastered a smile on your face as you hid your nervousness for the situation that awaited you backstage. you spent a few extra minutes posing and waving to fans before heading back, growing more wary with each step.

you were greeted by the sight of eren sitting in your makeup chair with his hair down and head thrown back. his eyes opened at the sound of you closing the door behind yourself, staring at you for a few seconds before standing up to approach you.

"eren, i—" you began but were cut off by his lips on yours, kissing you with a fierceness and passion that nearly knocked you off your feet. you returned the kiss, wrapping your arms around his waist as his hands held your face.

"same time here next weekend?" he asked, referencing to a lyric of your song. you smiled into his lips and pecked his once more before pulling away.

"or you could just be my boyfriend," you suggested, smiling hopefully.

"or i could be your boyfriend. i like that idea too."

© tiathecreator — do not repost, plagiarized, or falsely claim my work. likes, comments, and reblogs are welcome!

[elvisabutler]

give you my heart

summary: christmastime at graceland is hectic. you and elvis enjoy some quality time alone with each other by the fire after everything is said and done. some important conversations happen. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t to be on the safe side, i used the word cocked. pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy variation ) x female reader word count: 1846 warnings: elvis as santa. reader as mrs. claus. talk about elvis's health. basically the reader kind of taking the place of ginger alden if you're curious the time frame my mind went to. talk about marriage. brief mention of elvis's mother. potentially excessive talking to a baby belly. author’s note: merry christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidays to those who don't and happy sunday to those who neither of those apply to. also happy hanukkah. anyway! so this is the tame piece i mentioned last night. special thanks to my lovely ladies of graceland for convincing me to write both pieces. the beginning few paragraphs are the same as the first dirtier fic so no you're not imagining that. you know the drill, imagine austin or real elvis, i'm not picky because i know who i imagined. might maybe have one more christmas-y/holiday themed fic up my sleeve but that's likely for right after the holidays. and yes i am posting this at 6am, i don't understand why my brain wouldn't let me go back to sleep either. also if you want a tag for my later fics, or any of my fics in general just give me a heads up, i'm actually gonna try and start using one.

Christmastime at Graceland is always a bit of a packed house and one that is a- in your own opinion, bit of organized chaos. Between Priscilla bringing Lisa Marie, between every member of the Memphis Mafia- former and current- bringing their basic families and Elvis's own family it was a bit much to handle. Not for the first time you are so deliriously thankful for your fiance still having a relatively cordial at least nowadays relationship with Priscilla. You're pretty sure you would have been lost for the first two Christmases you had hosted and even for this one had you not had her to fall back on.

You're able to handle it though, flitting through rooms like a hummingbird, the swell of your stomach rounding out the red dress lined with white fur causing you to bump once or twice into the children running around and twice into Santa himself, causing him to run his hand across it, murmuring apologies to you and to your little one who gives him an answering kick that has him grinning even more than he already was under his fake beard. Your pregnancy, while giving you more energy than you thought was possible, sometimes also drains you more than you'd like during social engagements. Elvis warns all the adults ahead of time, tells them that things might be cut short if you're looking like you need to relax. You manage to make it a respectable three hours, even if by the end you find yourself sitting on one of the couches, rubbing at your belly enough that despite you moving to stand up shakily in your heels he's showing everyone out in record time.

Lisa and Priscilla are sound asleep upstairs as you find yourself curled up under a blanket on the rug in front of the fireplace with Elvis behind you supporting your back. One of his hands is rubbing small circles against your skin, watching as your child occasionally reacts with a kick that has him huffing a laugh against your neck and has you rolling your eyes. This is all you've really wanted today, for honestly the entire week as preparation for this soiree truly went into overdrive. Elvis might be taking a break from touring and from everything else to focus on his health a little and to focus on you and the child growing in you but he's a bit of a workhorse who doesn't know proper sleeping hours even on his best behavior. You're used to it and it makes times like this, makes these simple moments special.

You're both tired from today's festivities, him from running around after the kids and passing out gifts and you from just entertaining. Any other night after being as pulled apart from one another as you had been lately would have ended in some form of sex but it feels almost like too much effort for the pair of you. The baby within you keeps rolling about, the excitement from today and from Elvis's touch proving to be a combination to drive you a bit batty. Elvis wants to stay behind you, wants to be the rock you lean against but at the same time, he can't help the overwhelming urge he has to talk to your stomach, to kiss at it and marvel at how his girl, his future wife is growing another little one for him, an active little boy he hopes but he's alright giving his lil Yisa a little sister. He doesn't fight the urge after a while, after the fourth kick from your child has you huffing a little out your nose. With an agility you forget he has off stage he moves his body almost like a predator and you find his mouth placing a soft kiss to your belly as he speaks.

"Now ya listen here, it ain't nice to make mama hurt like that. Know ya jealous ya ain't out here enjoyin' the season but next year, lil one. Gonna be in our arms or running around the room. Or maybe you'll be in our arms when we get married. Have ourselves a Christmas wedding." He looks up at you, looking younger than his years. "'Less ya wanna be my wife sooner than that. Ya already got the ring and my big baby."

Your hand moves to his head, thankful he had taken the Santa hat off ages ago and you allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty still, but you figure it’s from the heat and the former hat. Elvis’s eyes flutter shut a little at the motion, the action being something comforting no matter who’s doing it. A smile plays on your lips before you shrug. “Your very big baby, wondering how much bigger I’m going to get- if I didn’t know any better I’d say there were two in there.” You pause and motion to the belly his head’s now resting on. “I’m not fitting into any wedding dress, sweetheart. Can’t have a wedding till this is all gone.”

Elvis laughs a little and rubs at your belly again, marveling at the kick he receives back, this time down toward the bottom of your stomach instead of toward the top. Maybe there was something to be said about your joke about there being two in there. He shakes his head before he speaks. “We can, ya just don’t wanna have everyone lookin’ at ya and realizin’ I’ve already got ya full of me ‘fore were married. ‘Sides, there’s always a courthouse one. Can do that for now, no fuss ‘n later on we can have the big ceremony with everyone.”

It’s not a bad thought, you think, allowing both of you the privacy of being married before everyone else knows, a truly rare thing that you figure would only serve to help your relationship rather than hinder it. Still, you’re wondering where all this is coming from, Elvis had been content to put a ring on you right before you found out you were pregnant and you had told him you wanted to have a Christmas wedding- a fact that had delighted him to no end at the time- but you hadn’t realized just how big you’d be around Christmas thus forcing you to put aside your plans.Your teeth worry at your lower lip before you say anything. “Just me dressed up in something nice, you dressed up in something nice and we just march down to the courthouse and say our I dos? No fuss.”

“Aw hell-” He starts, rubbing at his neck as he places another kiss to your stomach, murmuring something else before moving to sit up even as you want him to stay in your lap, just allowing you to stroke his hair. This had to mean business if he was turning down the chance to get it. “Look I know my mama's looking down on me right now and reminding me not to mess the one up. Already cocked it up a little giving you the little one early. Figure she'll come haunt me if I don't do what ya want me t'do. And I know you wanted a Christmas themed weddin’ but darlin’ I want ya to be my Mrs. Claus already. Want that ring on your finger to be our wedding ring. I’m bein’ impatient but hell- I don’t even want them questionin’ when you’re pushin’ out our baby whose it is. Just-” He pauses, and moves to cup your cheek, an action that causes you to nuzzle into his hand. “I wanna be able t’call ya my wife already. Wanna be your husband already.”

Not for the first time lately or even today you find your chest tightening at the love you feel for the man in front of you. He’s not perfect- God, don’t you know it and there’s a part of you in the back of your mind that’s prepared to eventually join Priscilla in being his ex-wife once you get married but it’s times like these, these simple times where he bares his soul to you that you’re reminded of why he’s the man you fell in love with.You bring your hand to rest over his and pull him into a soft kiss. “You’re that impatient, huh, big boy? You promise we wouldn’t make a fuss? That I can still have my wedding next year with you and I bouncing the baby between us during the ceremony?” 

He nods solemnly. “If that’s what my baby wants, if that’s what my wife wants, already told ya, mama’ll come haunt me if I don’t do what ya want. I’ll make it so we’re in and out and I’ll get Joe or one of the boys to take some pictures and that’ll be it. No fuss, no fans, nothing but you, me and the- well the little one inside ya but that can’t be helped.”

You giggle softly, running your free hand across your stomach as if to comfort the baby and to just help ground yourself to think.It’s a perfect plan, you think, and you’ve got just the outfit that could work. “They’re probably open on the 27th, you know. If you’re real serious about making me your wife as quick as you can.”

The grin that forms on Elvis’s face makes him look like a giddy school boy or like every silly picture of him just doing this full face grin that to this day amuses you to no end. You had said the right thing by agreeing and his excitement feels a little contagious as he nods his head. “I was serious as anythin’, darlin’. Gonna- Gotta make the plans tomorrow mornin’ when everyone’s awake and gotta tell ‘Cilla she can’t leave just yet- gotta have Lisa and her, just to witness. Oh- This might be the best Christmas present you’ve given me. Don’t think ya ever gonna top this one.” He bends down and places another kiss to your stomach. “Your mama is perfect ya know that, so lucky t’have her as ya mama.”

You shake your head, marveling a bit at the joy and the silliness in the air before you grab at Elvis’s face and place another kiss to his lips. “They got a real silly daddy but I’m marrying him early as a late Christmas gift so guess I‘m just as silly. Can we take this upstairs, jolly ole Saint Elvis?”

Once again, Elvis stands up quicker than you forget he can sometimes and pulls you up and close to him as he peppers your face with kisses. “Of course, gotta make sure my wife is comfortable. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t? Can’t get started off on the wrong foot. Come on, let’s get to bed.” He pauses and takes a moment to look you up and down. “Love ya.” 

You shake your head and laugh at the way he looks at you. “Love you too, you impatient man.”

taglist: @ab4eva, @aconflagrationofmyown, @butlersxbirdy, @eliseinmemphis, @blurredcolour

[taihjj]

And They Were Roommates...

Adult!Megumi, Nanami, & Gojo | Random | NSFW

Summary: Jjk characters as your roommates with your horny ass

©All content belongs to taihjj. Do not repost or modify

☆ Megumi ☆

He can hear your whimpers every single night, jusy trying to get off. As a man with a few words, he tries to ignore you despite the painful pulses in his short. But you forget he's not really a man of patience (as much as he tries deny it)

One night he just completely done. His body was twitching the way his body was turned on, his cock painfully erected in his shorts. He was just trying to get some rest but the soft whimpers, small gasps and faint sound of your cunt squelching with the sound of your finger, he so fucking done.

He barges in your room, slamming it open. You jumped on your bed, crawling back till you're stuck to your bed frame. He inches his way to you, crawling on your bed, grabbing your cheeks with one hand, squeezing them together. His body completely overshadows your smaller frame.

"When will you shut the fuck up every fucking night?"

"Do you want to get fuck that badly? Then I'll fuck you till you cant think of anything but my cock"

☆ Nanami ☆

He knows you got a tiny crush on him. Kodos to Gojo. The blonde also knows that you've been in and out of the apartment with different men every night to get your mind else where. All because you believe "you shouldn't think about your roommate and colleague that way"

Every night he sees you getting ready for who know who, wearing the most tightest dress or bodysuit, all dolled up that it completely aches his stupid body to touch. God you were mesmerising every single time.

"Hey Kento, can you help me with this zipper?"

Nanami hums and walks his way to your room. He sees you again fitting a dress, hugging the curves of your body.

"Can you help me please?", your voice almost a whimper.

He throats down the lump on his throat. As his hands grip the zipper, almost his animalistic ways found its way out of his conciousness.

"Wha-Kento!"

He zips it down, revealing your soft tits. He immediately grabs them as his mouth trailed kisses on the back of your neck.

"If you liked me so much, you couldve said so"

"I'm the only one who's gonna see you like this, yeah?"

☆ Gojo ☆

He's the most realest asshole you'll ever meet. Since he knows his little rommate took a liking on him, hes such a tease.

He walks out his room shirtless and sweaty from his light workouts. Towel hanging just below his waist when you're around the living room. And the most that he has done was kissing the lobe of your ear as surpise when your in front of him.

Gojo really believes hes the ultimate teaser. Until, he realizes that you always kept the bathroom unlock everytime you shower. Its not far from his room, a little bit opening on the door and he could see the shadow of your ass formed from the curtain. It got this clown fucked up.

His mind took over, he struts his way inside the shower room. He could hear your small whimpers? Why were you whimpering? Oh shit.

" G-Gojo-san?!"

He saw you completely lewd on the the tiles, legs wide open as your fingers stuck inside your cunt. Small cums glittering on the tiled floor.

He didnt think twice, he crouches down to your height, settling his head between your thighs. You were about to retort till you felt a sharp slap on your cunt.

"Tsk, didnt know you were such a slut. Hiding to fuck this little cunt while leaving the door open? Its like your asking for me to fuck you"

"N-no, I-I'm sorry i didnt mean to- ah!"

"Bad girls don't talk. Now shut up and let me eat you up"

© 2023, All content belongs to taihjj. Do not repost or modify

[fitalich]

There's Always a Tell

Jake Kiszka x Reader (Post-Band Film AU)

[Edited - 11/9/23]

After lurking here and there, I finally caved and incorporated Jake into a short piece I'd started for a college class. No, I have no shame.

I hope you find it titillating.

Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated 🖤

Contains: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations...hand kink?

Lead-in: You've overworked this scene to smithereens, rewriting the score, recuts, to where the original scene has been completely abandoned. All to avoid telling the director that you need to reshoot the practical effects that were half of the film's budget. Musician blames the edit; Editor doesn't think it's salvageable. The Musician [Male, sat left] and Editor [First Person, sat right] are reviewing the sequence on the projector. 

“It's just not cutting enough," you said. 

"Mmm.” He took a generous swig of neat blanco from his hatched rocks glass, audibly forcing the liquor down. The long silver pendants around his neck fell forward, dangling in front of his chest whenever he reached for the coffee table. 

His severely unbuttoned shirt did the same, black linen separating past his sternum and joining just below his ribcage, opening itself to expose skin you hadn’t seen. Jake’s body was akin to his other features–His frame was soulfully edged, strong-knit like a craftsman, but his flesh was gentle, supple, a little romantic. 

"I think we’re just gonna have to reshoot it," you said. "Build this up properly." 

His eyes fluttered shut. All the work he’d done, it wouldn’t be lost entirely, but the time wasted pained him. The entire night had been a battle over the pacing, and why it felt so awkward. He had already written the score, so you were left to the task of cutting the film to tempo by hand. If you even alluded to the issues within the raw footage, he’d shoot you a look, don’t say it. One time you muttered, you can put glitter on a piece of shit, it’s still a piece of shit. His best suggestion of the night, I could use a drink, so could you. 

He finally agreed, nodding his head reluctantly. "I'll talk to Josh, see what we can do." He patted the top of your hand twice, resting it there loosely. "What you've done here is fantastic, I'm sorry if I–I didn't mean to insult you–"

"You didn't," You chuckled. "The blind leading the blind," you said pointing between the two of you.

His head fell back with a soft laugh. "Right you are," he said, emphasizing his words with another pat on your hand, resting it there yet again.

You've never rejected his touch, but you've felt the need to question it. You wouldn’t put it past him, whether his actions were intentionally absent-minded, or he was simply unaware of the effect he had on you. Neither he nor his brother were ones to be very shy of physical affection. After a drink, however, he would languidly dance the line of professionalism and flirtation, making himself impossible to extrapolate. That was when you realized, this was the first time you too had been drinking.

He began to tap his thumb against your skin rhythmically, contemplating, while his eyes rested on the frozen film. You watched the tendons in his strumming hand twinge and flex, his middle finger joining in for what was some pattern playing in his head. 

Then the tapping faltered, slowing to a stop. 

You could feel him watching you now, no longer lost in thought. For once, this felt unadorned, forthright, like he was asking for your permission to continue. You looked to him, searching his face for a tell of some kind, but he was only doing just the same. Like you, he had no intent to speak.

You were taken aback by his pupils, so clearly blown out, even with only the flicker of a projector. His lips fell apart from how shallow and desperate his breathing had become, but he tried to hide it. He sucked on his lower lip, softly dragging it out against his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. You felt his hand begin to stir, gently pressing the entire surface of his fingers into your skin. Neither of you had blinked. 

You began to turn your palm over. He took over naturally, leading your hand to be fully encased underneath his. It was warm, almost hot, and it flooded your body. Slowly, he curled his arm, lowering his head slightly as he brought your hand to his soft mouth. He paused. 

A small breath that had escaped his nose tickled your skin. He became entirely transfixed in your eyes, silently ordering them to stay locked on his, before moving again.

He pressed his lips delicately to the base of your thumb, again along the joint, and once more against your knuckle. You pulled a long breath through your nose. 

He looked pleased with himself, wearing a small smirk as he extended your thumb with the coaxing of a finger. He then wrapped his lips around the sensitive pad, watching your mouth part for him. With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he started to suck lightly. A jolt shot up your arm when you felt the brush of his tongue.

"Fuck," you whispered. A small, sweet sound pressed in his throat. He looked to your forearm, catching the trail of goosebumps he'd left behind. You needed to touch him. 

You brought your other hand up the side of his neck, weaving the tips of your fingers through the hair just behind his ear, lightly tracing your thumb along his jawbone. He gave a final kiss to the pulse point in your wrist, and you closed your fingers around the roots of his soft hair. He blew an impish wisp past his lips, shaking his head as if he were trying to taunt you. You tugged harshly. 

He held his jaw stiff, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, followed by a dark, full-toned groan vibrating in his chest. As your hand wandered back down his neck, he pulled you in by the lock he had on your arm, wanting your body close to his. Pressing your thumb into the hollow under his ear, you rolled his head to the other side, exposing his neck for you.

"That’s what you wanted," he said…

[happysaddca]

CONTEXT! This is a drabble of sorts that originates from a pizzaplex rp server. "You" used to work at a different location when the Afton virus hit and affected all locations. You had spent 8 years with your Sun and Moon before the virus. And now you're starting over at a new location, where you've already started feeling protective over this Sun too. Context over I'm too proud not to share

---

It’s late, very late, the kind of late that leaves your mouth feeling like it’s been partially replaced with cotton, tongue barely able to fit behind your teeth. Your fingers pluck at the thread you’d been knotting through slivers of bamboo for the past… six hours? No wonder you’re tired. 

Sleep has never been your strong suit. Even as a child, you found yourself struggling to go to bed at the “proper” time and being extra grumpy when you had to be up at five to catch the bus. Your parents (let’s be real, your mother. Your father barely exists in your personal narrative except as the occasional villain), blamed you reading books and took them away. You just laid in bed instead, staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts overwhelm you. 

It’d been a point of contention between you and Moon. Your end of shift naps had come about as a compromise. It helped with your janitorial duties and you’d sleep for the last couple of hours before getting ready for school. Your use of Moon as a bed came from it threatening to burrito you like a cat and you not taking that seriously. Neither of you had put serious thought in how dependent you’d become on that little routine. 

You sigh and put aside the su. The idea of making a massive sheet of paper taller than (most) of the animatronics at the plex was tantalizing, but there are no sugeta big enough for what you’re wanting, and you don’t want to think about the *how* of forming the sheet once you’re done weaving the mat. The muscles in your left arm twinge as you stretch, and you flinch, rubbing at the scars cut deep into your face. The partially finished su and its materials are put aside at the foot of the bed, and you fiddle with your headphones, turning up the music. Sinatra croons in your ear, reminding you again that you should sleep. 

The pill calendar sits in plasticy judgment on the overly modern black quartz counter. You dump the rest of your coffee from last night into a mug. It’s bitter and cold, but it washes away some of the cotton building in your mouth. The numbness in your fingers and at the top of your head lingers, so, reluctantly, you pull the calendar closer. 

Most of this stuff you’d started before. You flip open one of the nights, poking at the little pills, scooping out most and avoiding the smallest tablet. You’d forgotten to take the day too, so maybe that’s why you feel so cloudy. If you doubled up, well, then you’d feel twice as sharp in the morning. *It is morning*. So twice as sharp after a short nap. 

Everything is downed with a swig of coffee. You’re not tired yet (that’s a lie). There’s a box sitting in the living room, waiting for you to get to it. No time like the present, so long as you’re quiet. You thumb through your playlist, skipping the next few songs, and grab a butter knife to cut open the tape. 

It’s a frame for Sunny’s print. You’d ordered it right after he sent you the size of his poster, wanting it to match the frames of the other art Lilly's let you hang in the living room. Mostly from classmates or ordered online from artists you admire. It’s a very eclectic collection, and there’s not much space for Sunny’s work unless you start a second gallery wall by the window. But then you’d need *more* work and more frames and the only ones you have available are Sun’s. 

Your Sun. 

You pull down a *Bioshock* poster and hang Sunny’s piece instead, snapping a photo. There’s a notification from Ellis, a picture of a cosplay they’re thinking about making. You clear it without opening the text. Your feelings on *them* have become complicated, and you’re not dealing with complicated right now. You’re hanging art and making a sugeta and learning how to create the perfect mirror glaze and 

Your fingers slip and you drop the old poster on your toes. 

You’re exhausted. And you can’t call out, not to your internship. You haven’t missed a day yet, and you’d rather not set a precedent. You can’t take your sleeping pills. They’ll leave you groggy for days. And you can’t take your painkillers for similar reasons. Your body aches. You should shower and stretch, but it’s late and you can’t wear headphones and you play your music too loud without them. Lilly and you have a tentative agreement right now. You don’t want to mess that up. And you can’t *not* listen to your music because then your thoughts will come back and swirl around you until you’ve been pulled under and you’re not doing complicated right now. 

Sinatra comes back, and you know it’s Moon telling you to go to sleep. The coffee took the edge off, but removing the edge of a cliff still leaves a cliff. You sigh and rub at your eye and push away your bangs from your forehead. And snap a picture of the poster. You can show Sunny later, when it’s not three in the morning. You’re not certain he would understand. 

No, that’s not right. Sunny would understand. There’s two photos of the poster. That’s the problem. You should delete the duplicate photo. It’ll disappear forever. 

You don’t delete the duplicate. 

“Okay,” you say, voice inaudible to yourself. “I get it. I’ll sleep.” 

You change out of the jeans that left deep red imprints against your belly and the binder that leaves your ribs aching. Everything hurts now, masking the pain from sitting bowed over your work for far too long. Your bed is soft, a pile of overly fluffy mattress toppers and pillows and blankets that you never properly remake, preferring to crawl into the nest and fish out the charger for your phone and headphones. You have to turn down the music for Lilly’s sake, but it keeps going as you yawn and snuggle into your favorite plush. It’s the DJ, shaped like a cube, something you very strongly suspect Moon hadn’t won so much as fished out of the claw game. *Well, it wasn’t cheating. I do have claws.* It’s the only FazCo branded item you keep in the open.

You snort and sigh. Things have been so *complicated* lately. Why did you seek out this Sun and Moon? Why did you come back to FazCo at all? 

Okay, maybe you can do a little complicated. You pick up your phone, pausing the music. Silence tastes like cold, burnt coffee. You scroll through your archived videos, tutorials and recovery and exercises meant to help keep the muscles in your face and arm mobile. You stop in the middle of 2017, thumb trembling. The choice is taken away from you with an involuntary flinch. 

*”And here we see the Moon in its natural habitat.” Your old voice comes through overly loud and tinny, and you turn the volume down as you flinch. Did you really sound like that before? “Being an absolute menace.” The camera sweeps over the ceiling outside the glamrocks’ green rooms, following a pixelated swath of nothingness.*

*“Here to serve.”* Blue. *Its voice is as loud as yours and the phone drops, camera catching a glimpse of blue and green and your own startled face before focusing on the ceiling. Moon’s hat dangles in the camera, and you can hear your old self giggling. “You need to work on your videography skills.” Moon bends over, hiding its face as a paw-like hand scoops up the phone. The world spins and it focuses on you. Younger, unscarred, trying very hard to grow out a mustache despite being only a couple weeks on T. “Here we have the overnight janitor, absolutely not doing his job and trying to keep me from doing my own as well.”*

*“Please, you do that plenty without my help.” The old you reaches for the phone but Moon holds it out of reach, still angled down to catch you trying to climb it, fingers digging in its shoulders. “I don’t let you pick out the playlist one night, and you have to pout about it. You’re a child.”*

*”Takes one to know one.” You’re still giggling in the video, but it gets muffled as Moon is dragged down to your level. You can’t see what’s happening, the angle is bad, but you remember. You’d kissed the silly bot’s face. Its giggling starts up, hands lowering, one cupping your cheek. You get a glimpse of you both, faces close as Moon pushes forward once more.*

The video ends abruptly, leaving you to stare at your own reflection, distorted over thumbnails over your past. 

It’s not really that complicated, you suppose, flipping through the videos to find another. Most of them have been saved to an external hard drive, but you’ve kept a few for days like this. Days when you need to remember. When you need to cry. 

You keep telling yourself it was easier away from the plex but the truth is, you aren’t sure that’s true. You lost six… eight months to recovery, then finished school and immediately started a residency. You’re still healing physically, and outside of a monthly check in with your psychiatrist to make sure you’re taking (most of) your meds, you’ve been ignoring your mental health entirely. Most of the time it’s “okay.” 

You close out the videos, locking your phone. It’s dark and quiet and you feel so tired. It’s time for a nap, you decide. The swirl of thoughts settle over the sound of Moon’s laughter, and you try not to let the thoughts expand past that. Just the sound of laughter and the taste of silicone and coffee, fingers cramping as you stretch them out. 

[shivunin]

hello hello i am in your inbox to ask what's a favorite passage/paragraph that you've written? any reason at all, just something you really like and why. 😊

ooooh thank you for asking! that is a fantastic question c: I think the scenes that a story grows from always wind up sticking with me the most, and this scene from Wander the Drifting Roads was one of the first ones I imagined. Cullen has lost his memory after exposure to red lyrium and this is the moment he decides he has a right to know who he was before:

Cullen knelt before the chest and just looked at it for a moment. That symbol was burned into the leather, the eye so like the Seeker’s symbol, the blade that extended below. He knew it. He knew it. Why couldn’t he remember–

He slid the iron block behind the curve of the lock and brought the hammer to bear. Once, twice, three times, and the twisted metal fell away. He set it aside with care and rested both hands on the lid of the trunk. 

Whatever it was he’d lost, whatever he’d done, the answers were in here. Six–no, nine months of waiting and…this was it. He swung the lid open and was glad he’d thought to open a window when dust flew up at the motion. 

The initial contents were painfully anticlimactic. Armor–a cuirass, pauldrons, vambraces–rested on top, a red cloak with a thick fur ruff tucked in beside it, and a pair of black gloves. He removed these carefully, noting the sparse scratches and scuffs. Whatever he’d done wearing this armor, it couldn’t have been much active fighting. Below the armor was a sheathed sword–he drew it from its scabbard and held it to the light–and a shorter, empty sheath. It looked to be a matched pair–longsword and dagger–but the dagger was missing. Strange. He set these aside as well.

Below that–clothing, tunics and trousers a little larger than ones he might wear now. Belts, a lyrium kit he had the good sense to immediately move out of his sight, a prayer volume and beads, books, a smaller box of miscellany–in short, nothing useful. He huffed at the trunk; had he really thought all his secrets were within? But Cullen was nothing if not thorough, so he sat back and removed the contents one by one anyway. 

He lifted the top tunic (why hadn’t it been folded? Most of the clothes were folded) and caught the slightest hint of an unfamiliar scent. Feeling a little absurd, he lifted it to his nose and breathed deeply. 

It smelled like–like lavender and leather and elfroot. Achingly familiar. He knew that scent, but what–

“Do templars take vows?”

He shifts uneasily; this is not the best topic of conversation with the headache beating at his temples, even if he knows why she might be curious. But he answers easily–he lived it for so long it’s all rote by now–until she tilts her head 

“Are templars also expected to give up…physical temptations?”

His thought process creaks to a halt, and when he takes a deep breath through the nose to recover his composure he can smell her instead. He hadn’t realized she was standing so close, and yet–lavender and elfroot, that’s what she smells like. And with her new armor–the sharp, earthy scent of leather, too. Maker, he wishes he hadn’t noticed. Can she tell that he spent half this conversation staring at her bottom lip?

Frustrated, he set the tunic aside and removed the smaller box. 

Letters on top, which he did not have the patience to peruse. Beneath that, a handful of things: a piece of sharp green glass, a scrap of white leather, a smooth black stone, and a small, round wooden box he knew all too well. 

He picked up this last piece carefully and lifted the clasp. Deep green velvet lined the inside, a contrast to the heirloom it held. The ring inside was yellow gold with a single white pearl in the center. The band was etched with vines and leaves that framed the pearl on either side. He lifted one finger and traced the smooth pearl, the ridges and bumps of the band below. Yes, he knew this very well indeed.

When Cullen had been small he’d admired the ring, a precious piece for a humble farmer from Honnleath. His mother told him that his father had saved for years to ask her for her hand. He’d knelt before her on a spring afternoon beside the creek where they’d met as children and laid out all his life for her–all his faults and foibles, all his missteps and mistakes. She’d listened to them all and told him he was horrible with words, but he’d better hurry up and marry her before he tried the speech on some other poor girl. They’d been married that week and had never once looked back. 

Cullen had liked hearing that story as a child, though he usually favored more heroic tales. He liked that his father had needed to work for this gesture; he liked that his mother had always told Cullen she’d never loved anyone else, no matter what foolishness his father had said. 

This ring was the single most expensive thing his family had ever owned, aside from the horses. After his parents’ deaths, Mia’d had it moved to a bank in South Reach for safekeeping. Why was it here, in this dusty trunk? 

A heaviness in his chest told him why, but he carefully set the box aside anyway and reached for the correspondence. 

Letters: letters from Mia, who alternately berated and teased him for failing to write. Letters from people whose names he didn’t recognize, thanking him for this or that–none of those meant much to him. Who had he been to them? And the last, bound in worn green ribbon: three letters marked with his first name alone. No titles. 

This was it. He knew this had to be it. He stopped anyway, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to still his racing heart. The red hum was there, the faintest of counterpoints, and it had risen with his heart rate. He waited until he could still and silence it again, until it lay quiescent in his chest, and then he slipped the first envelope from beneath the ribbon. 

[ifyougochasingrabbits]

TW: Joking about being murdered. Feat. Zallah

Serpentile Alchemist steps down the stairs languidly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. With a stifled yawn, his eyes settle upon a smaller figure in the distance--- clad in all white... Rabbit ears outside of the Gold Saucer? Walking past, his focus is trained on her momentarily, amused by the outfit. Snickering, "A little early for All Saints' Wake, aren't you?"

White had been leaning against the stone railing, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle while her gaze lazily danced to and from the people who dotted the floor below. That was until she heard a voice. A familiar one. She turned her attention over, past her shoulders at the man. "...little. Snake?" Her brows lifted above amused filled eyes that squinted by her cheek rounding smirk. She straightened her arms, pushing herself to stand at her full height of small. "Is that really you? So they haven't had you for lunch~." Turning around she rested her rump against the railing, holding it with both hands.

Serpentile Alchemist felt himself perk right up, the weariness of the workday be damned, upon hearing that nickname. Seemed a bit odd though, recognizing her but not in her entirety. "Well, the names Zallah," he countered, inching closer, "Look at you... I like what you've done with your hair."

"I know your name, you silly little snake~" White repeated the nickname, leaning her head one way, but only a little. "Do you remember mind?" Slipping a hand under several locks of hair she pushed it forward, over her shoulder. "Do you? Really? Truly like it? I cut it myself." She gave him a once— no, a twice over making a couple notes to add to the ones that sat collecting dust in her head. "You were comin' from the guild. And you're gooooin'?"

"No, I don't," Zallah ventures, startlingly honest about it, "Don't think I ever got it. Knew you by your working name alone, me thinks." He nods thrice over, sucking in his lower lip to chew on it... not that it was visible. "I don't remember that either, no. Yeah, looks good. Frames your face real nice. Do you tie it up? I think that'd look nice, too. Like them little buns you see lots of girlies do." Zallah paused, realizing he hadn't answered the last question. "Nowheres in particular, really. Was thinking of wandering aimlessly until someone stabs me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

White slapped her fingers to the flat of her chest, gasping! "You wound me!" He didn't. The chuckle told him as much unless it didn't. "It doesn't matter. It's not my name anymore. No matter how much others might repeat it." Taking one knee-locked step forward she moved beside him, bending a little at the waist as she clasped her hands behind her. She looked up at his face, smiling. "I do! Put it up in buns. They look very cute. I'd even say the cutest! In fact. I just did~" White straightened herself up. "That'd be messy. And then you might die. You can't feed your snakes if you're dead. Unless they eat you instead. Then you'd have to die near them. Or have someone bring you. To them." Her rambling came to a stop, blinking her wandering gace back up to his. "You could go into the lane. They do that there."

"Shall I salt it? Will that make it feel nice and better for you? I hardly remember your face," Zallah says, smiling with all teeth. Again, not visible. "But I do remember the way you move. What a refreshing breath of air you are in these dull, dull halls. Why're you dressed like that? On your way to a party? You certainly are most entertaining." He mulls over her suggestion, making a grimace. "I want my blood to sully where no man's blood has been spilt before, the Gods-damned Lane is full of the stuff. No, thank you."

White almost spat out a short laugh. "You could add some pepper too!" She grinned. Then his words sparked an idea. Leeeeaning in she lowered her voice into something more hush-like, joking, "How about the Sultana's chambers?" It rose as she did, both arms swinging out as she went on, "At the bottom of the sea! Or. Would the surface of the moon suit you better? No. But the Quicksand might~"

Zallah had to think on it, he found himself pacing left from right... stroking his face covering. His tail moved in a fluid motion, side to side--- eager. "The surface of the moon--- there's an idea to strive for... Ah, to be the first man slaughtered on the moon..." He shivered with anticipation. "Now to find a suitable butcher..."

White watched and listened. She listened and watched, the smirk quick to grab the corner of her lip, curling it yet again. It wasn't going to be the last time. "Who'd be the most. Suit-a-ble." Her fingers step, step, stepped to her words around the backside of his waist, asking, "For you? Someone tall? What about long hair? Or short hair. Blue eyes? Brown? Black?"

Zallah stepped forward, confidently lifting himself up and onto the stone barrier while facing her. "Tall... Handsome... Dark hair... Ought to have big arms and even fatter tits. I ought to be thrilled while I'm getting gutted, of course. I can't imagine anything worse than being miserably bored while being murdered."

White let a person come to life in her head with each and every description he shared. Then. She made a puzzled face when it formed into a face she had been looking for before she heard the snake's voice in her horns. She gave her head a small shake, chuckling, "I couldn't!" as she stepped up to where he sat, placing her hands on the railing at either side of him.

"I'd rather die in my sleep, if that were the case. 'Least I'd be dreaming." Zallah placed his hands ontop of hers. Trapped. :)

"What would you want to dream about? A pretty butcher?" White was trapped! Or was she? "On the moon?"

"Oh, maybe I'd get a little kiss. Maybe more than a kiss. That'd be a very different dream, then."

"That's one way to get stabbed. Some would say even the best way."

"Mhmm... I should hope it has me screaming." Then, Zallah circles back around to the topic. "Have you still not answered me as to why you're dressed like that?"

White wiggled her fingers on one hand under his, not to break free, but as if she was tapping them. "To catch people's attention. To make them look. Or ask! It worked, didn't it~?"

Zallah grinned behind the mask. "So it has." He liked it, and thus approved of it. "It suits you, strangely enough. Charming."

"It does! Suit me. Per-fect-ly." And nothing anyone could say could change White's mind. She smiled wide. Up at him. Leaning in as she teased, "Do you still go? To the Minaudiere. And talk about those noodles of yours?"

Zallah shook his head. "No, I haven't been to the baths in quite some time." Though... now that she mentions it, the idea did seem alluring. Perhaps that's just what he's needed after today. "No one listens like you do!" He sighs, dramatically. Then, leaning in with a bit of cheek he says with a loud whisper, "Well, no one apart from a new lover of mine. He'll listen to me go on and on--- and better still, he'll do it for free." He was teasing, but not lying.

White grinned, proud-like. She leaned in too, threatening to smoosh the tips of their nose or knock heads if either weren't careful. "If he ever gets bored." Her lips shrunk into a smirk as she teased back, "Of listenin'. You could fill my horns again. I'm not hard to find~" Unless she didn't want to be.

"I'll consider it," White practically purrs, "More's the merrier, even if he isn't bored of it. I do enjoy a willing ear or horn." He released her hands finally, shifting so as to pull himself away from the railing. "I'll be off to tell him of my plans in regards to getting murdered. He'll be most displeased at the prospect, I think."

White flipped her hands over to take hold of his, spinning them around. She took his spot. Or she would have if she hopped up onto the railing. It didn't matter, they stood in opposite spots, her staring up at him with yet another smirk. Told you there'd be more. "Tell him it'll be on the moon. Maybe he'll be happier. Unless you want him displeased. Then you can tell him it'll be behind the Quicksand. Or in it. Beside it?"

"He'd sooner dispatch the would-be killer, I think." Zallah let out a wolfish laugh. "I'll be telling him about you, thats for certain." He gives her hands a bit of a squeeze before releasing them. "Perhaps we'll meet again." Then, he asks, "What are you called now, if not by that previous name?"

White's arms swung to her sides, easing back for her palms to press against the curve of the railing. "Careful. He might want to meet me~" she said with a tilt of her head and a grin. "I'm sure we will. I have a feelin'." At his question her features softened, but the smile didn't fade. "White Rabbit. That should be easy to remember. Even for snakes."

"I do like fluffy, white rabbits!" Zallah chirped, proceeding to saunter off. A grin to his voice, "The city is large, and yet so, so little." Then, laughing, he called out, "What? And miss the chance to have you meet him? No, no. I insist, should he ever want to meet you he shall!"

White lifted a hand, smiling a little wider. Just a little. She gave him her often given fingery farewell stating, "I'll see you." It almost sounded like a threat. When he could no longer be seen she turned back around, returning her lazy leaning on the stone railing to people watch.

[itsthestutterforme]

Becoming Mine (Vincenzo)

Summary: Y/N is working with Vincenzo and a loyal ally from Italy. Han seok captures her and tortures her for information. She holds out longer than he hoped and wants her loyalty for himself.//SMUT WARNING, MINORS DNI

--

Jang Hanseok sent Ms. Choi to get her hands dirty and oversee the torture of Y/N for information. Y/N and Vincenzo grew up in the Mafia together. They taught each other everything.

He has asked Y/N for help with taking down Babel and she said yes without any questions asked. And now she has to suffer the consequences of loyalty.

First they started with electrocution. They tied her to a metal chair and put spark plugs on the back side of the chair. They would send a jolt, each longer than the last. "Go to hell!" She yells at Ms. Choi after the jolt that lasted 20 seconds.

Then they moved on to cutting with the thinnest daggers. Death by a thousand cuts, she always thought it was a cliche thing to use. But hey, to each their own torture method.

Her hair sticks to her forehead and the sides of her neck as he digs his knife across her collar bone. "Fuck!"

Ms. Choi walks into Hanseok's office with a grimace. "What's wrong?" "She's not breaking. She's a lot stronger than I thought." Ms. Choi says, linking her hands behind her back. Hanseok stands from his chair and rounds the desk.

"What tactics have you used?" He asks. "Electrocution, cutting, waterboarding, fire and even bludgeoning and she still tells me to go to hell." Choi rambles.

"I could use someone of her loyalty," Hanseok states. "I want to meet her," he adds. "With all due respect, sir, she'll never agree to that. She's endure days of torture for Vincenzo, she isn't going to give him up or betray him. She's willing to risk her life for him." "Will you risk your life for me?" He asks, searching her face for a response.

"I'll kill anyone you tell me to, sir," "That didn't answer my question. I still want to see her." He says. Ms. Choi drives him to the warehouse where they keep Y/N. She was currently unconscious from the pain she has endured. Hanseok's face grimaced and he says, "You took get your hands dirty a little too literally."

Y/N gasped as she regain consciousness and she groaned softly. She looked up to see Jang Hanseok and he smiles. "Who the hell are you?" She asked before spitting out some blood in her mouth. "Hopefully, I'll be your new boss." He says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "In your dreams, tough guy." She snarks.

A man punches her across the face and she looked at him with pure annihilation and vexation. That look gave Hanseok butterflies in his stomach. The feeling was beyond the norm and he had no idea what the origin was. She opened her mouth to say something else but Hanseok intercepted.

"Touch her again, and I'll have you thrown off a building." He threatens. Hanseok watched as the man stepped away from her. "You, cut her loose," He adds, pointing to another man.

"Sir, are you sure about this?" Choi asked and he didn't answer. She was cut free and the first thing Y/N grabs is the man's throat before breaking it.

Another man came at her and she ducked under the punch before punching him twice in his armpit before punching his throat. She limps over to the table where her weapons were and grabbed her smaller knives.

She tossed them in the air and within seconds, three men dropped dead with the knives in their skulls. Which only left Ms. Choi and Jang Hanseok.

She grabs a gun from one of the corpses and aimed it at them. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you both," "Do that and my men sets that entire plaza on fire with everyone inside."

"I'm calling your bluff lady, you're just trying to save your ass because you know that I'll put bullet in your head without blinking," she says as she cocks the gun and applies steady pressure on trigger.

"Wa-" she pulls the trigger and sends a bullet straight through Ms. Choi's head. Hanseok chuckles wryly before saying, "Now I'm in need of a new lawyer and strategist," he says, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.

"Who are you?" "The CEO of Babel," he answers nonchalantly. "So you're the one who started all this,"

"Well I can't take all the credit. She had her fair share," he says, referencing to Ms. Choi. Red dots appear on Y/N chest and she notices. "I have this place surrounded. One move to shoot me and you'll get shot to pieces. Just take the easy way and work for me. It'll be a lot of fun." "Right, like killing innocent people is fun,"

"It seems like you enjoy killing people." "Only those who deserve it," she snaps. "Regardless of your intentions, my guys wills drop you before you can fire. Question is, do you want to live and be treated like a queen?"

She doesn't respond and he adds, "Or I can kill both you and your mother. She loves to visit a little shop in.. Siena, right? What's it's called again?"

Her grip tightens on the gun before tossing it across the room. "Kill her and I promise to kill you and every single one of your sponsors," "Looks like you and I have more in common than we thought. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He walks out of the warehouse and she hesitantly follows.

Y/N's POV

You sigh softly as you stepping into the cold, crisp in contrast of the warm, misty air in bathroom. You had pulled your hair into a loose ponytail before you put on Hanseok's shorts and t-shirt. You hate to say it, but his clothes were extremely comfortable. He promised to take me out shopping tomorrow for clothes.

"I didn't know what you liked so I bought everything," he says, referencing to the various plates of food on the kitchen counter. Your eyes settle on kimchi jiagae and you make your way over to the table.

You a grab a few bowls to try some of the kimchi jiagae, bulgogi, dakdoritgang, dakgangjeong and mixed rice. You set them on the tray sit on the pillow he prepared for you.

"You like spicy food, huh?" He says and you nod. "Yeah, my brother likes spicy food too." You wait until he comes back with his tray of food to dig in. You hum lowly as you eat your bulgogi and you feel a hand touch my chin. You pull away and look at him with confused.

"What the hell are you doing?" "I'm sorry, I just.. you look.. you're beautiful," "If you think that you can someone convince me into sleeping with you, you have another thing coming,"

"What? I can't appreciate your beauty without something in return?" He asks innocently. "Hell no," you sneer. He chuckles before saying, "I'm going to have some fun with you."

Over the next few weeks, he has bought you a whole new wardrobe, shoes and jewelry. He's even made sure my hair and nails are done with complementary spa days.

He's been pampering you ever since you were a part of his life. You've been enjoying it but you've developed a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It also raises questions. Why did he choose you? How long will this pampering thing last? Is your mom still held hostage? What is he planning on doing with Vincenzo?

"Hey, kitten." You roll your eyes at his new pet name for you. You have no idea where he got it from because you are nothing like a kitten. You were playful or adventurous, but you were high maintenance.

"How many times do I have to tell.." you trail off as you see him in a light blue three piece suit with white leather shoes. His hair was combed to the side with gel and you could smell his cologne from where you sat.

"Why are you dressed like that?" "Do you like it?" He say, nearing you slowly. "No," you lie and he smiles at you. "You sure about that?" He leans his hands on either side of you and ducked his head to be at your eye level. "I bought you a matching dress. Get dressed, we leave in an hour."

He nudges his nose against yours before leaving the room and leaving you hot and bothered. Ever since you walked in on him lifting weights without his shirt, your mind came up with various, filthy scenarios that made your panties soaked.

You stand up from the chair and walked into the bedroom to see a goregous silk, light blue dress with diamond seam around the midrange of the stomach.

You take a shower and apply your favorite lotion and perfume before you slide on the dress. You latch on the sparkly, light blue heels. You put on your robe and sit down to apply some foundation, highlight and mascara on to your face.

You were just about to clip your hair up and leave a few curls out but you hear Hanseok say, "Leave your hair down." You look at him through the mirror to see him leaning his arm on the door frame, pulling his dress shirt taught around his solid biceps. He eyes you with a soft smile on his face. "You look beautiful," he says as he nears you once again.

"I know." You stand up and meet him half way across the room. "Shall we?" He says , offering you his arm. "Let's just get this night over with,"

**

You two return at one in the morning and you were infuriated. He spent the whole night flirting with random women at the gala. "You make no sense to me, Jang Hanseok." You say, taking off your earring and tossing them on the dresser.

"What makes you say that?" He asks, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes. "You pamper me with all these gifts, clothes, jewelry to convince me to stay in your life and then you spend the entire night flirting with every one you could lay your eyes on." You snap.

He takes off his vest with a sigh and loosens his tie. "I wanted to see if you cared. Cared about me and my attention." "Well, do you?" He adds. "If I didn't care, do you think I would have said anything?" You snap.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you inches away from his face. He tightens his grip and says through gritted teeth, "I've had enough of your attitude, just answer the question."

"I just did." His fingers dig into you neck enough to cause discomfort but not enough to break skin. "Do you care about me?" He asks. "Unfortunately, yes." "Why unfortunately?" "It only makes it harder to-" "

"To betray me?" You push his hand away and say, "What the hell makes you think of something like that? I was going to say it makes it harder to say no but you always think everyone is out to get you. It should be me asking the qu-"

He stops your rant by slamming his lips on yours. One hand rests on the back of your head and the other smooths over the dip of your back.

Your fingers work on unbuttoning his shirt as you walk him onto the bed. He sits on the edge and pulls you into his lap. You pull his shirt off his shoulder and leave kisses up his chest in it's wake.

He moans softly and you could feel his hard on press against your inner thigh. You tug the rest of his shirt off and push his back on the bed. You buck your hips against him and a soft whine leaves his lips.

You quiet him by tenderly biting down on his bottom lip. His lips latched onto yours and presses your core harder against him.

He pulls your hair gently to evade your attention from his lips. He rolls you on you stomach and stands. "Han seok, what are you-" he rips the dress open from the back, making you yell out in surprise.

"Damn it, I liked that dress." "There's plenty more where that came from kitten," he smooths his hands up the back of your legs and squeezes your ass.

You pull off the rest of your mangled dress, leaving you in your white lace set. "And don't you dare rip-" he rips the lace underwear in two and pulls you so your knees are on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to kill you, Han seok."

"I've been wanting to get a taste of you since I set my eyes on you." You let out a squeak when you feel his hot breath agaisnt your core.

You've never been in the position before so you have no idea what the expect. He licks up the stripe with slow, deep licks, each lick lasting longer on your clit. "Oh God," you grip the sheets with a white knuckle grip when he curls his tongue along the upper wall and caresses a g-spot. Your legs started to shake and loud moans leave your lips when he slips in two fingers and curled them hard.

You tried crawling away from him, feeling overwhelmed of the pleasure but he holds you back by your thighs. With a few more licks, you release yourself on his tongue and he hums with satisfaction.

"You taste a lot better than I thought, baby." Your body already started to twitch and you could tell that this was going to be a long night.

You roll onto your back and chills roll down your spine when you see him licking your juices off of his fingers. Pushing yourself backwards, he pulls you closer to him by your ankles. "Han seok, please. It's too much."

"You're doing great, kitten. Just relax and let it wash over you." He says softly, pecking your lips before settling himself between your legs once again.

He spreads your legs wide before he sucks on your clit harder and faster than the first time, sending shock waves through your body. "Fuck! Oh my God!"

Looking down at him, he locks eyes with you and he completely devours your bundle of folds. He alternate between licking side to side and up and down with a curl of his tongue.

Your back arches and stars cloud your vision as you come down from your second high. He pulls away from you with his lower face covered in your juices. "Come here," he lifts your trembling body and dropping it into his lap. He smooths his hands over your ass before unbuckling his dress pants.

He pulls down his boxers and his erection stands up tall, making your whimper. He's going to destroy you. "I'll be gentle," he whispers, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

You nod your head in agreement and lines himself up at your entrance. Throwing your head back as your walls expand and contract around him. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck and he bounces you in his lap.

Time slows a few seconds when you meet his gaze. "Oh God," you chant as the knot intensified in your stomach. "I'm close, Han seok."

His lips locked with yours and your boys jolts forward when his thumb rubs hard circles on your clit. Your entire body spasms as he cums inside of you but he continued to rub circles until you came.

He stayed buried inside of you while you sat in his lap as you both catches your breaths. Resting his forehead against yours, he says, "I love you. You believe me what I say that, right?"

You nod and holds the sides of your face. "Say it," "I love you," "Good girl," he pulls out of you and slides you both under the covers.

You lay directly ontop of him with a thin sheet covering the both of you, sighing as he draws circles on your back.

[cherryonigiri]

nanami kento [evenings with you]

nanami kento x reader || cw: descriptions of blood/injuries, light angst

a/n: this is just self-indulgent writing for me but i'm v stressed about school rn and this is the result. just imagine that y/n is a bio/medical phd candidate lol.

Nanami can tell that you're stressed. Usually you savor the nights he's not on overtime, asking him about work and refusing to leave his side for most of the evening. He's used to you being attentive, so the fact that you've asked him the same question twice within the last ten minutes is already setting alarm bells ringing in his head. You're constantly fiddling with something, or flashing furtive glances towards the bedroom when you think he's not paying attention.

It only gets worse after dinner. You insist on washing up, something about how you want him to 'enjoy his night off.' Nanami compromises, silently grabbing a towel and drying the dishes. It's clear that your mind is elsewhere. Your hands scrub the porcelain on autopilot, and he can hear you muttering under your breath.

Every now and then you'll mutter a list of tasks under your breath. Nanami remembers you mentioning that things were hectic in lab. You're almost always still working when gets home from work, even when it's well past when you eat your dinner. It's clear that you've had a busy day-- the apartment is far more cluttered than it usually is. There are post-it and pieces of scrap paper stuck to every single surface, and a forgotten pile of folded laundry rests on the couch.

An intense burning sensation across your palm causes you cry out. "Shit!" You drop the knife you were washing in favor of cradling your already bleeding hand. Nanami is instantly by your side, firmly pressing the dishcloth against your cut. There is a worrying amount of red seeping into the fabric, so he silently ushers you to the bathroom.

It's a strange reversal of roles. He's used to being the one leaning leaning against the counter while you bandage his wounds. Instead, it's you who is perched on the marble surface, wincing as he dabs an antiseptic soaked cotton ball against your injury. "Sorry, I'm almost done," he says when you let out a loud hiss.

"It's fine," you reply, sheepishly looking away. "I should have been paying more attention."

Nanami chooses to only respond with a nonchalant hum, focusing on cleaning your palm. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he applies ointment to the cut, adding gauze once he's finished. It's only when he reaches for the bandages that he decides to ask. "What's stressing you out?"

Your eyes widen as you realize you've been caught. Nanami is rarely home early these days, especially since he's been mentoring Itadori on behalf of Gojo. (Not that you mind - in the few times you've met Itadori through video call with Nanami, the pink-haired student's sunny disposition has never failed to cheer you up.) When he'd texted you saying he'd be home by dinner, you'd jumped at the opportunity to spend some much needed time with him. You'd pulled out the stops, cooking something a little fancier, and intent on spending the earlier part of the evening cuddling with him. Secretly, you had planned to sneak out of bed after he'd fallen asleep (he always goes to bed early on days like these) and finish preparing for the gauntlet of meetings and presentations you had tomorrow. It was your fault for putting off the tasks, and you didn't want to let your own bad habits get in the way of some quality time with your boyfriend.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot on my plate tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off, but quickly trail off once when you catch Nanami's deadpan expression. He's always been too good at seeing through your white lies. "I put off some work..." A raised eyebrow from him prompts you to continue, "And I was planning on doing it after you went to bed..." You can't help it when your face scrunches into a pout. After all, now your carefully-laid deception has been revealed.

When Nanami bursts into amused chuckles, you're momentarily surprised, but quickly go back to sulking. "Stop laughing at me Ken!" you whine, "I'm a--"

"Self-aware procrastinator," he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. "I know love, I know. I've seen you write far too many papers within 24-hours of a deadline to be surprised." He presses an affectionate kiss against your wrist.

You scowl at your boyfriend, snatching your bandaged hand away from his grasp. "I'm glad that my suffering is entertaining for at least one person." You stomp back to the bedroom in faux-anger, smiling when you hear Nanami's footsteps not far behind you.

When he steps into the bedroom Nanami drapes his frame over your shoulders, his warm torso nestled against your back. "It is one of your more...endearing traits," he murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You can feel your cheeks and ears tingle at his words of affection.

"Sometimes you can be such a sweet talker," you mumble to yourself while you change into your pajamas. This week it's been an old Jujutsu tech hoodie and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.

"Only for you," Nanami replies while he undoes the buttons of his outfit, chucking his tan pants and blue button up into the laundry basket in the corner. He dons a pair of sweatpants before returning your side to recapture you in another affectionate hug. It's a well kept secret of the Kento-Y/N household that Nanami Kento likes to lounge around shirtless in the privacy of his apartment. (You've been sworn to secrecy, but only because your boyfriend claims that Gojo and the students would have a field day teasing him if this information were to be made public amongst the jujutsu sorcerer community.)

Turning around, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his torso and taking in his comforting scent. It's been so long since the two of you have had a moment to yourselves, and for once your hectic thoughts are silenced in favor of sharing a moment of calm bliss with Nanami. He hums in appreciation, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

"Do you want to watch anything tonight?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"No," he replies. "I was actually planning on reading the briefing Ichiji just sent me. Gojo apparently has another scheme up his sleeve." You giggle when your boyfriend lets out a pained sigh. On more than one occasion, your boyfriend has ranted to you about Gojo's unorthodox approach to exorcism. "I swear that idiot shaves a year off my lifespan every time I go on a mission with him," Nanami complains. "He's taking away the years I could spend in Malaysia."

You hum thoughtfully before responding, "Then do you mind--"

Once again, Nanami already knows what you're going to say. "Just remember to bring your laptop charger, I know you have a thousand tabs open on your computer right now," he says while exiting to the living room. After a few moments you join him, overburdened laptop and charger in hand. You both take your usual spots in the living room, him resting comfortably in the center of the loveseat and you sitting on a floor cushion, nestled between his legs. Soon you've fallen into a groove, fingers steadily typing on the keyboard. The warmth of Nanami's presence next to you brings a sense of calm, giving you the grounding focus you need to finish off the last of your tasks.

As he thumbs through the printouts Ichiji gave him, Nanami can't help but let his eyes drift towards you every now and then. You look so adorable when you work. From the way your brow furrows whenever you reread a line, to the way you unconsciously chew on your lip when you scrutinize your draft for any errors. Every now and then he'll gently run his fingers through your hair, relishing the content sighs you let out in response.

It only takes about another hour before you're (finally) closing all your tabs (he still doesn't know why your laptop hasn't crashed yet). As you scroll through social media, your head begins to droop. Soon enough you've fallen asleep, breaths coming in soft and even puffs as you rest against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he puts down his papers and gently lifts your body from the floor. He's careful not to wake you as he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom.

Setting you on the bed, he tucks you under the blankets before lying beside you. The moonlight coming through your window softly illuminates your relaxed features, and he softly traces the outline of your face with his thumb. As he continues to caress your cheek, his eyes are drawn to the dark circles under your eyes. He rarely falls asleep after you these days - between his physically demanding occupation and the ever growing number of things you are responsible for at work- he's often the first to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion while you work well into the night. Not to mention that he's had to spend an increasing number of nights away from you, either on challenging missions or accompanying Gojo's students. And while he knows most of your stress comes from being a student, he can't help but feel guilty about all the additional distress his status as a jujutsu sorcerer has caused you.

When you started dating him, you insisted that Shoko teach you how to suture. He hates how much your stitches have improved since then. The neatness of your stitches is a constant reminder of how much you've endured because of him. When he hears you trying to muffle your sobs into a pillow, he swears he can feel his heart crack in his chest, hurting more than any kind of physical wound from battle. Those nights end with him holding you tightly to his bandaged chest, murmuring reassurances and affection into the crown of your head until you've calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. Even when you're unconscious he'll still continue, words morphing into apologies for the sadness he's inflicted upon your shoulders.

Feeling his eyelids being to droop, Nanami presses one last kiss against your forehead before laying down. He wraps his arms around your waist, surrounding you with warmth, hoping that his presence will be enough to keep your nightmares away, at least for tonight. I love you, y/n is the last thought he has before he drifts away, ready to dream of a tropical sunset and a peaceful future with you by his side.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Stay With Me (Pt. 04 of 09)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Daryl found you surrounded by the dead, stuck in the backseat of a car. You were wishing for death to take you away for quite a while now, but, as you slid back and forth into consciousness, there was only one thing keeping you alive. Him, the man with blue, worried eyes and kind voice. Your beaten up body was ready to give up, too wounded and broken to keep going. But this man, who went out of his way to save your life is the only thing in the world holding you up. And, because of him, you feel something you haven't felt in a very long time: hope. Wherever he's taking you, you want to get there, and not only to be buried. For what it feels like the very first time, you want to live. He takes you back to Alexandria, but even there, the nightmares and the terror from all the torture and pain you've been through keeps creeping closer, and Daryl, your hero, is the only one who can keep that all away.

Warnings: Mentions and description (not graphic) of past abuse; post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD); some violence at the end of the story (a little bit graphic, but not so much); blood.

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{The Walking Dead Masterlist}

I want to thank my awesome friend @jodiereedus22 , who helped me (and still does) a lot to get this story done. She's also a writer and she's amazing so please go check her work!!

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Running Away

Twenty-one days. That's how long you've been in Alexandria. The days have fallen into a routine, slow, and filled with care. Daryl has been sleeping with you, and in the mornings you have your breakfast on the porch when it's sunny. Then, Carol helps you take a bath, changes the dressings of your wounds, and you're back in bed. You're speaking more with Carol, what makes her happy, you think. The wounds are still a problem. It still hurts a lot, but not as bad as before. And you're starting to get tired of staying in bed all day.

So today, after having your dressings changed and when Carol leaves, you stand up, eyes tightly closed to hold back the pain. Using the nightstand to support some of your weight, you move to the wall, using it to help you limp towards the door.

“Huh?” You hear a mumble.

“You're... Clean?” Carol asks, and you wonder what that's about. “You're clean.”

“I showered. What's the big deal?”

“Yes, you did... You showered yesterday too. And the day before...” As you reach the door frame, you try to understand what's this odd conversation between the two of them. “Actually, you've been showering daily for quite a while now. I wonder why–” She stops talking when you step outside, her eyes finding you.

Immediately, Daryl turns around, making his way over you. His eyes run through your body and you don't quite understand why he's cheeks are getting red. “What are ya doin’ up?” The moment he's close enough, you let go of the wall and hold on to him instead.

But Daryl acts weird, as if he didn't want to touch you. It makes you feel akward since you grew used to his touch. “What?” You ask, pulling away just enough to look down at your body, trying to see if there's anything in you that might have caused this reaction.

“Where are the rest of yer clothes?” He asks, trying to push you back into the room.

“This is what I usually wear.” Shrugging your shoulders, you take in the tank top and one of the lycra shorts Carol got you. It reaches about two inches above your wound, which means it barely covers your thighs. It never bothered you. Well, only when it's cold. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.” He gives Carol an odd look before holding you again, his hands barely touching your sides. “Let's get ya back to bed.”

“No. I wanna go downstairs. I'm tired of being in the room.” You beg him, trying to resist as he pushes you back. “Please?”

“Put on somethin’ to cover up yer... Yer body. In case someone comes in.”

“I'll grab the blanket.” When you're about to move to get it, Daryl's moves first, taking the blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders, closing it on the front. He then picks you up, as he usually does to move you around, carrying you downstairs and carefully laying you down on the couch.

You quickly move into a sitting position as he settles down beside you. “Ya want anythin’?”

“I'm thirsty.” You don't want to keep asking people to get things. You want to go there and get them yourself.

“I'll get you some water,” Carol answers before Daryl can stand up.

She soon comes with your glass, and you drink half of it before handing over to Daryl, who puts it on the coffee table. Then, you move the blanket around, so it won't be a barrier as you lean on Daryl. But he flinches, seemingly uncomfortable. The way he moves away hurts you a little, and you sit up straight again, looking at him. “What is it, Daryl?” You ask, suddenly feeling odd, pulling the blanket so it'll cover your shoulders. “I just took a bath, I'm not dirty.” Your mind tries to find any other reason for Daryl to act like this.

“I know. Ya smell good, I jus’...” He moves a little, clearly nervous. “Yer using next to nothin’ and I don't wanna make ya feel uncomfortable.”

“I'm not feeling uncomfortable.” Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to understand what's the difference. You've been using this style of clothing since you got here. Denise told you not to wear anything that might squeeze the wound on your thigh, and Daryl has been sleeping on the same bed as you. Why is it different now? Then it clicks. He never really knew what was under the blankets you always have around you in bed. But you don't feel uncomfortable, not around Daryl. “I'm fine, truly.”

“Are ya?” He looks down at you after avoiding your gaze for a while. You wonder why he seems so embarrassed.

“Yeah.” Muttering, you give a quick glance at the kitchen, to make sure Carol isn't looking. Sometimes, she stands there, as if studying your interactions with Daryl, you're not sure why. You have the suspicion that she's actually studying his interaction with you. But she's not on your sight, probably at the sink or at the countertop making lunch. Turning your gaze at Daryl, you shrug your shoulders. “Can I?”

He breathes in deeply, and you see something snap in his eyes, like he's giving up trying to fight something. “C'mere, babygirl.”

You can't control the smile that comes to your lips as you lean on him again, carefully moving your legs up to the couch. “Daryl?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you call me babygirl?” You decide to ask, not because you don't like it, just because you really want to know.

He moves a little, restless again. There are a lot of things you still don't understand about Daryl, but you try to. “ ‘Cause yer young. And a girl.”

Doesn't make much sense, and it sounds like he just said the most obvious thing. “I'm not that young, Dixon.” It's weird how, all of a sudden, you don't want Daryl to see you as a kid. He does have to look after you, but it's just because your body is still broken... But you're getting better every day, and soon enough you'll be able to function like a normal person.

“Yer young compared to me.”

“You're not that old.”

“I am compared to ya.” He speaks fast as if he wants to shake this thought away.

Of the many things that have gone through your head since you spotted Daryl's blue eyes among the dead, age wasn't one of them. It's not like you haven't noticed the man is some, well, several years older than you, probably around two decades, but it was never important. You never thought this matter deserved attention. It doesn't change anything. “Uhm...” You mumble, an arm moving to hug his midsection.

“Shouldn't call ya that anyway.” He mutters, his chest vibrating under your head.

“I like it. I really do.” Daryl only calls you that when nobody else is around. When Carol or Denise are here, he always uses your name. And you like it. It's like a private thing, a secret.

Daryl only grunts in response, which makes you giggle. You both fall into a comfortable silence until Carol comes to the living room, sitting on the coffee and getting your attention.

“(Y/N), Maggie and Glenn got back from a run yesterday. They brought a wheelchair and I was thinking that maybe you could use it to take a tour around the neighborhood.” She says, glancing at Daryl and then at you. Walking it's still hard for your leg, and Denise still doesn't think you should try to. The stitches ripped twice after the first incident, and you're being extra careful now.

“I don't know.” The thought of going out there, where people will see you... You haven't stopped to think about it. Actually, you've been more comfortable with being inside the house.

“I'll be with ya. If ya feel like yer ready for it.” Daryl says, and it gives you just a little bit of courage.

“Do you think I should?”

“The group wants to meet you.” Carol answers. “They're curious about the girl Daryl cuddles with.” Her comment makes Daryl swift in his seat again, letting out a displeased grunt. “You will like them when you give it a chance. There's also Judith. That one will steal your heart in half a second.”

“Who's Judith?” You ask her.

“Rick's daughter,” Daryl says. “Lil’ Ass Kicker, three years of drivin’ Rick insane.”

“You have kids here?” You haven't seen kids since the world broke. Part of you thought it was better that way. Bringing a kid into the world as it is now is crazy. But here... Alexandria seems like a safe place. It seems like a good place to be if you want kids.

“A few, yes.” Carol states. “So? Can I have Maggie bring the wheelchair?”

Lifting your head a little, you give Daryl a glance. “It's yer call to make. Ya wanna go or not?”

“Only if I can meet Judith.”

“Alright then.” Carol stands up, clearly happy. “I'll get the chair and you put some clothes on because if you go out like that Daryl will certainly have a heart attack.”

“I would never go out like that.” You mutter, wondering what's the big deal with your clothes.

So you put on these loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved light blue shirt since the wind coming from your window is a bit cold. You're anxious when Daryl puts you in the chair, already outside. You can't help but look at the sides, suddenly aware of every human being here who's not Daryl.

“Ready?” He asks, and you almost say no. But you force yourself to nod, and he starts pushing the wheelchair.

You're shaking a little, hands clenched into fists. Maybe this was a bad idea, and everything you want is to get back to your bedroom, where nobody knows about your existence, where there's just you and Daryl and nothing else. People have been hurting you for too long, you don't think you can deal with them anymore.

“Ya ok down there?” Daryl's voice snaps you out, and you nod again. “Let's meet Maggie. She's the one who found ya this chair.” Daryl takes you near the walls that surround the city, tall and constantly under watch. He calls and the woman some feet away turns around. She's been talking to a small group of people, who also turn to look at you.

“Daryl.” She greets, leaving the others and walking over you. “And I believe this is (Y/N). I'm Maggie.” She reaches out her hand and you freeze, just looking at it. This is ridiculous. You shouldn't be out here. “Oh, it's alright.” Maggie retrieves her hand, giving you a small smile. “I've heard you've been through some tough times. I just hope you'll feel better now that you're here.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you nod, trying to force some words out. “T-thanks for the chair.” You push out, hoping it'll be enough.

“No need to thank me. I just thought it would help you start getting to know the community.”

“Maggie!” Someone calls, and she turns on her heels to check it out.

“That one over there, in the blue T-shirt is Gleen, my husband.” She says. “Nice guy, judging by the fact I'm married to him.” She looks at you again. “Well, I gotta go. I hope this is not the last time I'll see you, (Y/N). Have a nice day.” With that, she waves and goes back to where she was as Daryl pushes you away, taking a different turn.

“She's nice.” You tell Daryl when you're far enough not to be heard.

“She is. You'll like her if ya give her the chance.”

You mutter in response, bouncing your leg a little. This place is amazing. Beautiful. It reminds you of simpler times when the dead used to remain that way. But the wall around you is a constant reminder of the dangers that must be kept outside.

Daryl introduces you to some people. You're happy you managed to say ‘hi’ and shake some hands, despite flinching away from their touch too quickly. He's very patient, pushing your around the town, using the least crowded streets. But half an hour later you're getting too restless, excited to go back home.

“I think I want to go back now.” You say when you see two people walking your way.

“What about Judith?”

“Oh...” You completely forgot about her. “Can we go now? Then back home.”

“Judith is Rick's daughter. Which means he'll probably be there.” Daryl warns you, changing direction. “Ya think ya can handle that?”

“Then we should just go back home.” You suddenly don't want to do it anymore. It's way too much for today.

“Listen.” Daryl stops, walking around the chair and crouching before you. “Ya trust me, don't ya?”

“I thought we reached this point where you don't have to ask me that because you know the answer.” Of course you trust Daryl. You'd put your life in his hands without thinking twice. You've already done that, actually.

“I know Rick reminds ya of one of those assholes, but he ain't like them. He's been with us for years. I trust him and so can ya.” One of his hands comes to touch your knee, and it makes you relax a little. “But I'll take ya back if that's what ya need. Not gonna push ya.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod, looking down. “Can't you... Can't you bring her to the house?” You're not ready, not yet. “I'd feel better there. Even if–Even if I have to meet this Rick.”

“Of course, baby–” Daryl clears his throat, shaking his head.

What's wrong with him today? “Babygirl.” You decide to finish it for him, reaching out your hand to touch his face. But Daryl stands up abruptly the moment your fingers connect with his cheek.

“Let's go.” He's soon moving you again, not saying anything else.

It takes five minutes or so until you're back home, feeling relieved to have these walls around you again. Daryl leaves you in the living room with Carol as he goes to get Judith. He takes a while, but you hear Judith before Daryl swings the door open.

“See that lady over there?” He says to the beautiful toddler in his arms. It's such a sight, seeing Daryl holding Judith. “She's dying to meet ya.” As he speaks, Judith's eyes find you and she smiles.

“Hi!” She mumbles, waving a tiny hand at you.

You didn't think you'd ever see a kid again. “Hi, Judith.” Daryl brings her to the couch, putting her down beside you. “How are you, little ass-kicker?”

“You goin to play with me?” She happily asks, reaching out her hand, which you hold, giving a little shake.

“Sure.” You can't help but smile. A smile that doesn't fades. This child is the exact opposite of everything you suffered. She's innocent, kind, and pure. “There's nothing here to play with.”

“Rick's bringin’ some–” He's cut off by a knock on the door. “That's him. ‘M gonna let him come in, is that alright?”

Holding your breath, you nod. As Daryl goes to open the door, you keep looking at Judith, the smile disappearing. “(Y/N),” Daryl calls as you see the two men moving to the living room. “This is Rick, Judith's father.”

“Hi, daddy,” Judith exclaims.

Slowly, you raise your eyes, sinking a little into the couch, as if it could put more distance between you and that man. “Hi.” You whisper, not sure if he can hear you, so you say it again. “H-hi. I'm (Y/N).”

“It's nice to meet you, (Y/N),” Rick says, exchanging a glance with Daryl. “I brought these blocks Judith likes.” He slowly steps forward, and you finally notice the box he's holding. He leaves it on the couch between you and his daughter before stepping back. “And I want to apologize for our first meeting. I didn't know... Well, I'm sorry.”

“It's ok.” The words are still getting caught in your throat. Rick does look like that man, but he isn't him. The beard is pretty much the same, but the eyes are different. More kind. But then again, some of them did seemed to be kind in the beginning. It didn't last long though.

Judith opens the box and starts taking all the colorful blocks out, throwing the empty box on the floor.

It's a weird feeling to do this. Playing with a kid, building houses and castles, imagining people living in them. The rest of the world goes away for a while, and you're surprised by the smiles that keep finding their way to your lips. Every time Judith says or does something, you can't help but be mesmerized. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, sometime from now, you could have a kid of your own. You always wanted to be a mother, before the world came crashing down, but you haven't given it much thought about it after. It was useless anyway. There wasn't a place like this, safe, where you could fancy such possibilities...

Your eyes suddenly find Daryl, seated on the kitchen table talking to Rick. In the back of your mind, you wonder if Daryl ever thought about having kids too. He does seem to like Judith, and she likes him too. Like he's being called, he looks straight at you, and you sustain his stare for a while before Judith claims your attention.

Shaking your head lightly to push these thoughts away, something else comes. The way Daryl suddenly started acting weird. Earlier today on the couch, and when you touched his face. It doesn't matter how hard you try to understand him, you can't. You need to talk to him, to ask what's wrong.

Judith stays with you all day, only to be taken by her brother Carl when the night has already fallen. So you have dinner before going back upstairs, fixing the blankets around you, and waiting for Daryl. But after an hour, you wonder if he'll even come.

So you push all the blankets away, ignoring the cold that quickly creeps over your skin. By the time you reach the hall, you realize you don't know where Daryl's room is. Why didn't he come? He always does, you don't have to ask. Did he forget you? Is he mad or something? Using the walls to help you walk, you move down the hall, a low groan leaving your lips when a sharp pain spreads through your torso.

“What are ya doin’?” His voice comes from behind, so you stop, leaning against the wall. Daryl reaches you a couple of seconds later, and you're quick to notice how he holds both your arms, keeping a distance in between you. “Come. I'll help ya get back.”

“I'm alright.” You mutter as he easily picks you up again, carrying you back to bed.

“Ya still need to be careful.” He simply says, standing back up once you're comfortably lying down.

“Daryl, I need to talk to you.” Sitting back up, you decide to just say it, put the cards on the table.

“Ya need anythin’? I can get ya–”

“No, I... I just need to understand what's going on.” You didn't want to interrupt him, but you get the feeling he's trying to run from the conversation. “From this morning you've been acting weird, like... Like you're suddenly trying to avoid me...”

“Ain't tryin’ to avoid ya.” He shifts his weight from one leg to another, looking down.

“Yes, you are. Don't you...” Running a hand through your hair, you try to come up with the right words to describe something you don't know how to. “Don't you like it when I touch you? Don't you–”

“I'm goin’ on a run with Rick.” He bursts out, not allowing you to finish. “I'll be leavin’ tomorrow mornin’ an’ it'll take four or five days.”

He sounds mad, angry even... He told you he usually goes on runs, but he hasn't left since you got here. You never thought about this, having to deal with Daryl being... Somewhere else. “Daryl, why–”

“I gotta get my stuff ready.” He then turns around and walks away. “Have a good night.”

And he's gone. He's gone and the tears immediately start rolling down. You're lost, disoriented. A different pain makes pressure in your chest, crushing you, pushing you back into the bed. Something happened. You must have done something, even though you don't know what it was. Covering your mouth with one hand to hold the sobs that come, you wonder how are you supposed to do this.

How are you supposed to endure the night? How are you supposed to be without him? You're not ready yet. What if he doesn't come back? What if he gets hurt? What if he got tired of taking care of you day after day? What if he doesn't want you? Your touch, your hugs, you.

He's tired of you. This fragile, broken thing you are. He saved you, yes, but it doesn't mean he cares for you. Maybe you misread things, and your feelings blinded you. And maybe he doesn't feel anything for you. Only pity.

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